


Calm Water

by MirrorElm



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie wants to boink a merman, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mermaid AU, Assault (mermaid o human/mermaid on mermaid), Charachter death (not our boys), Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lucky for him the merman likes to be boinked by him specifically, M/M, Mermaids EAT people, Mermen, People don't like the mermaids, Some Humor, mermaid, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorElm/pseuds/MirrorElm
Summary: Alfie Solomons is a hardworking fisherman in a world where mermaids plague fishermen’s lives at sea.Tommy Shelby is a merman who’s been taught to fear the angry apes with spears.One day their paths meet and their lives change forever.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 125
Kudos: 189





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Heyy~~  
> So this is actually the first thing I ever wrote (like a year ago), but I decided to rewrite and finish it now. I’m a sucker for mermaids and Tommy Shelby is the prettiest of them all so yeah.  
> The first chapter is not part of the series, but it’s just an illustration I made for my DND campaign to explain my mermaids. I thought it might be helpful to have a visual reference for this fic.  
> In my universe, mermaids have a membrane that they pull over human legs and quickly grow chitin scales (I know it doesn’t grow that quick, but let me have this :P).  
> There’s other details to their physiology I won’t go into, but I made a helpful picture using David and Birth of Venus as pose references 😊


	2. Of Boats and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie Solomons Junior is a young and hardworking fisherman.  
> On a faithful day, his eye catches a glint of scales in the water.

The sea is calm today. No foreboding clouds or violent winds, just a clear blue sky, the smell of salt in the air and the sight of small fishing boats quietly drifting in the sea.

A young fisherman, Alfred Solomons Junior, is stood at the back of his small trawler, pulling a net out of the water. The ship’s metal gears are creaking under the strain of a good catch. It’s October, but the sun is still relentless in its presence, bright and hot, making any and all physical activity arduous. Sweat and saltwater mix in the white cotton of the fisherman’s shirt. He’s tired and uncomfortable.

Alfie’s in his early twenties, but he’s already a seasoned man of the sea. He’d been taught how to work his trusty little trawler from a very young age by his uncle after his mother’s death.

_Your father never lifted a finger. Not a day’s worth of a real man’s work from that bastard. You’ll be different, boy._

And he is, isn’t he? He doesn’t know much about his father, the only evidence of his existence a forgotten hat and angry tales from his family, but everyone tells him he’s different. Bigger, stronger, more hard working. _Built like a bull to do a bull’s job_ is what he was told. So he spends most of his days at sea. A bull doing a bull’s job.

His mother never saw him that way, though. Everyone thought her crazy, gone insane after being abandoned by Alfie’s father. Lost inside her head when they lived in their cottage by the sea until the water took her. Alfie remembers that cottage well, though he hasn’t been there in years.

It’s small but homely, having only one big room and a separate bathroom. The living area has a small kitchen and a large fireplace by the windows overlooking the shore. Reckless living, the townsmen called it, so close to the water outside the city walls where the mermaids could get you, but his mother never feared them.

She kept trinkets, little gifts from her amphibian friends, above the bed on small wooden shelves. He remembers the shells and pearls, like little trophies, each placed carefully on their respective spaces. The rest of the cabin was filled with blankets and soft cushions, a disarray of colour he holds on to fondly, but he can’t linger on this memory. Connected to the softness of his former home is the madness of his mother. Painful thoughts for another day.

A glimmer in the water catches his eye. It could be nothing, but he walks to the bell attached at the end of his boat and rings it anyways. His suspicions are confirmed when other boats join in the ringing.

Alfie checks his earplugs and grabs the unused javelin. He’s never really been one to shy away from violence when needed, but he’s never hurt a mermaid. The weapons usually just scare them away.

A tense moment of silence is followed by the hum of a melody.

It’s distant, but Alfie drops the javelin all the same and covers his ears with the palms of his hands. Looking around, his eyes stop at the helm of a larger ship to his left when he sees her.

The Singer.

All mermaids can sing a snare to entice you closer, but it’s the Singer’s enchanting voice above all other’s that usually lures careless men and women into the water. The mesmerising sound is accompanied by a beautiful creature with shiny and colourful scales lining their menacing tail. A pair of earplugs and common sense prevent fishermen from jumping to their deaths most days, but today, it seems some are doomed to fall victim to the haunting melody of the sea.

Alfie hears the muffled splash of water before he notices the young man swimming towards the Singer. He tries to yell some fucking sense into the distant figure, meaningless as it is, but soon the melody is starting to seep into his mind through the earplugs and he needs to go below deck. The last thing he sees in the water is a flurry of scales and a pool of blood.

It’s rarely the Singer that kills. A throng of Hunters, mermaids with darker, less apparent scales lurk beneath the surface, waiting for the victim to dive in and come close enough to be pulled under. His mother told him as much. Before her, everyone thought it was the sea that swallowed you up in judgement of daring to approach such beauty. Some said if you’re worthy enough, you’d make it to the mermaid and live a blissed-out life for the rest of your days. Few were dumb enough to try.

Minutes go by and the melody stops. So does the screaming. Alfie sits in the corner for far longer. He’s seen this before, the aftermath of a hunting by those creatures, and it’s not something he’d like to see again. There is nothing more terrifying to a fisherman than the sight of floating limbs in bloodened water.

Alfie does not hate mermaids. He fears them, but he does not resent them like many of his peers do. It’s undoubtedly his mother’s influence. She spent most of her time befriending them and learning from them, writing down her findings on notes that were later published. Though having shunned and called her a gill sympathiser, the townsmen still took her knowledge about the sea folk. That’s why they mostly left her alone, she was useful.

But she never cared for their opinion. Whether it was her madness or not, she sought mermaids out and befriended them. She kept insisting they were misunderstood and not at all the savage beasts people claimed them to be.

Alfie sits there for a while and thinks of her. Eventually, he reminds himself that he still has fish to put on ice and a market to get to, so he forces himself up and back to work.

There are fewer ships around him now, the water deceivingly calm. He tries to ignore the blood and tends to the fish. It doesn’t take long and he’s on his way back to the docks. As if it were a normal day at the sea. It almost is.

The atmosphere at the docks is tense. Word of the attack must have spread quickly and many of the fishermen there to witness it must have already begun drowning their sorrows in spirits to forget it ever happened. Not a good day to be the son of a gill sympathiser, Alfie thinks. _Or a gill sympathiser himself._

Ollie, a merchant friend who frequently buys Alfie’s fish, appears from behind his stand at the busy market street, smiling.

“Glad to see you’re still alive.”

Ollie is a young and ambitious lad taking over his father’s work after the man had become ill. He’s a nervous boy, but he’s smart and resourceful and a friend. He almost feels like a little brother at this point.

“Of course you are, mate, who else would supply you if I died?” Alfie smiles and then picks up empty crates next to the young man’s stand and to fill with his fresh catch. Sometimes he wonders why it’s so easy to move on once he steps on dry land and the blood is far away.

“I’m sure I’d find someone,” Ollie huffs, helping Alfie unload.

Alfie is about to say something back when he hears yelling down along the pier.

Then the bells ring.

It’s been years since Alfie’s heard bells at the docks, mermaids don’t usually come this close to such a large human settlement. Plus, this town is protected with nets and walls. But the bell keeps ringing. There’s a mermaid at the docks.

Alfie snaps his head towards the sound of men shouting and sees a crowd gathering at the pier next to two small motorboats. There’s no singing. Still, most people are now running away or clamouring to put their earplugs in, including Ollie. Alfie, however, moves closer to the small crowd of angry and drunk fishermen by the water. It takes some shoving, but he gets through the crowd. Then he sees him.

In the water between the boats floats a young merman. He has black hair, pale skin and incredibly blue eyes. Beneath the water there is a sign of shiny purple and blue scales, which means he’s a Singer. Then why isn’t he singing? The merman, more a mer _boy_ at this point, looks utterly terrified in the shadow of the angry mob gathered at the edge of the docks. Men shout and yell at him, but he seems too petrified to leave.

Suddenly, one of the fishermen unties the rope binding one of the boats to land and another jumps aboard to start the engine. Others in the mob quickly catch on and pull another rope, sending the now running propeller towards the frightened boy in the water. He could easily escape, but he doesn’t budge.

Fucking hell, just fucking _move_.

Fuck, Alfie doesn’t have time to think.

Something primal in him makes him lunge forward and jump into the water next to the boy. As the boats are closing in on him, he puts his arms out ant tries to keep them apart, straining to counteract the metal’s momentum. The fishermen stop pulling when they see him, but it’s too late.

Alfie screams as the blades rip into his right side, just below his outstretched arm. It’s a guttural, painful noise that finally makes the boy snap back to reality. He looks at Alfie in terror, turns and swims away as fast as he can, leaving behind the glint of purple scales in the distance as Alfie’s world goes dark.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alfie?”

The faint voice calls out to him in the darkness, but he can’t quite place it. It takes him some time to bat away at the fog in his mind. A clear mind is entirely overrated, if you ask Alfie, especially since the daze he just left leaves him at the precipice of unprecedented pain with nowhere to go but into the searing sensation of his torso being split in half. Alfie groans, but at least he doesn’t scream.

“You’re a fucking moron.”

Ah, the voice. Ever so lovely to hear his dear cousin Annie. Nothing to soothe one like the condescending musings of a loved one. Alfie opens his eyes to see her sitting on a simple chair on his left, a suitably stern look on her young face.

He’d love to say _Annie, sweetheart, would you be so kind as to spare me this pain either by a smidgen of opium or by smothering me this instant? Thank you, love_ , but all he manages to grit out is: “Pain.”

It’s getting worse the longer he’s awake and it takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep it together. He hears a sigh and then, “Nurse!”

Breathing exacerbates the pain exponentially and there’s tears running down his cheeks, but he will _not_ scream in front of his cousin. Alfie grits his teeth as a needle pierces his skin and soon thereafter the pain dulls. Not gone, but softer, like the bit of salt in fresh wounds instead of, well, a torn apart torso.

Opening his eyes, he spots his cousin, her features now softened at the sight of his plight. They’re in a plain hospital room, all white, simple and sterile. Annie shines a bright contrast with her colourful and lively clothes, her wild curls and green eyes. She takes his left hand in hers.

“You’ve been out for days,” her voice sounds deep and exhausted.

“The boy,” is all Alfie manages to say. He means to ask what happened, but breathing is difficult enough on its own right now and saying even those two words takes all the effort he can manage. His voice sounds foreign to him, too rough and quiet.

Annie takes a cup from the nightstand next to the hospital bed and moves to fill in in the sink across the room.

“The “ _boy_ ” escaped. They checked the nets for tears. Nothing. He must’ve come with a ship,” she brings the full cup back to Alfie and helps him drink, “small sips.”

She puts down the cup and sits back down, her face now stern again, “and as for _you_. I hear a moron jumped, fully clothed, no warning, into freezing cold water between two running engines to save a fucking _mermaid_. Seriously, Alfie, were you _trying_ to kill yourself?!”

There’s genuine worry in her words, but Alfie’s used to that. He’s always been a little reckless, much to Annie’s chagrin. Always getting into trouble, usually mermaid related of course. She’s too young to understand, didn’t grow up the way Alfie had. He doesn’t blame her for not understanding, having been taught the same horror stories his mother fought to dispute her entire life.

“One,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

“What?”

“One engine,” it’s a struggle, but it’s a clarification Alfie feels needs doing. As if his actions were therefore normal.

“Right, _one_ running engine,” she corrects herself, hands thrown up in defeat, “makes it all better now.”

Annie gives up on the topic and starts talking about the weather, her job, everything and nothing and Alfie listens. It’s tiring to stay awake so it’s not long before he drifts off to the sound of her soothing voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :D
> 
> (I hope it doesn't come off as too pretentious, I think I sort of gave up on this style of writing in later chapters, it's not easy haha ^^')  
> Next week, we have "a bit" of a time skip ;D


	3. The Shells that Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after the incident at the docks, Alfie once again faces the merman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update is a little early ;D

_Five years later_

“You forgot something!” Ollie yells as he hurries across the cold stone floors at the docks towards the fisherman and his small trawler.

It’s been years since the incident with the young mermaid, Alfie thinks sordidly, but he still hasn’t regained full movement in his right side. He takes the bag Ollie holds out to him with his left hand. It annoys him, but not quite as much as the lingering pain. Like a sting to his lungs, worst during winter.

He’s different now, besides the massive scar that cuts at his torso. Alfie’s never been small, but he’s grown even more now, a right scary man when looked at from afar and his constant scowling underneath that unkempt beard doesn’t do much to soften his image either. He likes it that way, keeps people from bothering him.

Ever since he’d saved the boy at the docks he’s been regarded a traitor to his kind, not that he was very liked to begin with, right, but the incident certainly didn’t fucking help. He wouldn’t fucking mind either, yeah, he’s a big boy, he can take it. What fucking bothers him is that his “ _sins”_ are passed on along the family as well.

Annie’s been there for him all during his recovery. She didn’t have to be, but that’s just the way she is. Alfie tries to be a decent _first cousin once removed_ (though he’s usually just called “uncle Alfie”) to her two little girls Eve and Leah. Their father, a man named Darby Sabini, lazy fucking bastard born with a silver fucking spoon in his mouth, takes care of them well enough. Annie hates that he’s never offered Alfie any money, but Alfie wouldn’t fucking take it anyways. He can take care of himself well fucking enough, thank you very much.

“Alfie, you okay?”

His mind snaps back to the present. Ollie is looking at him with a confused expression on his face. Alfie does that sometimes, he gets lost in his thoughts and forgets his surroundings. Adds to his scary persona. The bag is taken and Alfie inspects it to see his earplugs scattered inside.

“Right, thanks.”

He won’t wear them, hasn’t for years. Doesn’t even own a javelin anymore. What’s the fucking point? The sea’s going to take him some day anyways, why bother with trivial things like earplugs? It’s easier to work without them.

Ollie still smiles at him when he sets off and waves goodbye, proudly thinking he’s saved his friend once more. He’s grown a bit, that lad, tall and lanky, a little uncomfortable with his size, but he’s yet to be a man. He’ll get there, Alfie’s sure.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sea is calm today. No foreboding clouds or violent winds, just a clear blue sky, the smell of salt in the air and the sight of small fishing boats quietly drifting in the sea. Just like it was years ago, just like it will be years thereafter.

It’s awfully comforting, the stability of this unchanging landscape, as volatile as it might seem to an inexperienced observer. Sure, a person might call the sea a tempestuous mistress when one fares only on days when the storms hit the water. But the storms rarely come and there’s a sense and consistency to them, ever present in the grand scheme of life on the water.

Alfie often has time to sit and reflect on these things, waiting to reel in his catch. Currently, however, he is stuck reading a horrid piece of fiction on the deck of his boat, leaning on the closed door leading inside. He’s just under a tiny shade afforded to him by a small roof overhead, making the day more bearable. The light breeze is an added bonus as well.

There are fewer boats at sea today, especially at Alfie’s regular spot. Not a bountiful day, so he takes it easy. The earplugs lay discarded somewhere below deck.

The book was a gift from his cousin, titled “The price of Eggs in the morning”. It’s a deeply philosophical work and exceptionally dreadful, were you to ask Alfie. Annie insisted that he read it, so he will, but that doesn’t mean he has to fucking like it. It’s a particularly boring paragraph that finally tumbles Alfie over into a short nap after he says that he would only rest his eyes for a quick moment, a respite from the author’s ridiculous assumptions about life.

There’s a splash. Not the kind of splash one should hear from calm water like this.

Alfie’s eyes snap open. Immediately he sees him. Leaning on the side of the boat is a merman, staring right fucking at him. Eyes as blue as the water they just came from. It’s… it’s him.

The boy he’d saved a couple of years ago. Not a boy anymore though, by the looks of it.

Alfie feels frozen in place. Tension fills the air as his mind races. He’ll get eaten for sure.

The merman keeps staring.

Well, at least if he gets eaten, his last sight will be a sight of true fucking beauty. Wet black hair, slightly curled at the ends and stuck to smooth and shiny skin, doll like eyes with big wet eyelashes, full lips that would probably feel like sandpaper would Alfie ever be graced by the Goddess to let him feel them, strong arms holding onto the side of his boat and… oh? Are those freckles? This one must be in shallow waters often.

It takes a moment for Alfie to come out of his awe and realise that he is in fact, not dead. Huh. He sits up from his slumped position, which seems to startle the merman and he vanishes into the water. Alfie sits there for a moment longer, the book forgotten in his lap, wondering why the fuck is he still alive?

He shakes his head to brush off the odd encounter and decides that the best way to use this surge of adrenaline is with some work, ignoring the strangeness of his obvious arousal. Who wouldn’t get aroused at the sight of that? It’s what they’re made for, mermaids, right? To entice you. Completely fucking natural response, then. He won’t ring the bell, if the merman wanted blood, he would have eaten Alfie long ago… right?

Some time later he notices a purple glint in the water, choosing to ignore whatever cruel joke the Goddess is playing on him right now. But when he hears a dull thump against the trawler’s side while eating lunch below deck, he can’t help but wonder. What is that pretty creature up to?

As he’s putting fish from his net on ice, he notices a small, but particularly colourful specimen. His mother’s voice echoes in his mind. _They like them pretty and shiny._ _Even if the dull ones taste better._ She chuckled when she told him that, a fond expression on her face. _They’re as vain as we are, sometimes._

The fish ends up on the spot where the merman hung off of the boat earlier, Alfie’s back turned towards the offering as he goes back to work. Not long after, he hears movement in the water. A glance over his shoulder reveals the fish gone from its place, making Alfie smile to himself.

The day goes by quicker than most and soon the sun is setting and Alfie steps back on deck to prepare for the journey home. He’s been out longer than usual, telling himself it’s because of the scarcity of fish. Sometimes he wonders why he bothers lying to himself. There wasn’t any sight of purple in the water after the offered fish, but as he looks towards the end of his boat, he notices a pretty white shell and a small blue rock.

A gift, one not uncommon for mermaids to give. He remembers his mother’s shelves, packed with these sort of trinkets. The rock and shell end up securely in his pocket, but he has to be careful. Can’t be seen with these sorts of things around town, tensions are high enough as is.

After he returns to the dock and unloads his cargo, Alfie goes to Saltwater Barrels, a pub close by frequented by most fishermen. There’s drunk men singing old sea shanties off key, something about women and alcohol. The smell of fish, urine and alcohol mix into air unique to pubs like these and Alfie’s spent his evenings here with his uncle ever since he was allowed on the boat. It’s a habit he keeps for no reason, other than maybe not wanting to spend the evening alone at home. Odd, since he’s alone at the bar anyways. He sits on a barstool and orders a beer.

There’s more eyes on him than usual. Part of him thinks it’s the shell and rock screaming from within his pockets, drawing scrutiny from the people around, but he pushes that paranoia down quickly. Rocks don’t scream. They can’t know. He soon finds the answer in an overheard conversation.

A bad wreck at sea, seventeen men dead after an attack on their ship fishing far into mermaid territory. It’s the new mayor and his aggressive invasions deeper into places men ought not to go that have led to more deaths this year than any fisherman can really remember. But it’s rarely the men in charge that get the blame.

The shell burns in his pocket.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Alfie hears from his left, “why don’t you join the other pansies at the town hall, protesting for bubbler’s rights!” The men around him chuckle. Right, the protests. Led by rich kids rarely ever at sea in search for a diplomatic solution that doesn’t involve invasion into mermaid territory. As right as they may be, they just don’t hold any credibility amongst sea hardened folk. Pansies. Philosophers. Gill sympathisers.

“I’m fine right here, mate,” Alfie answers. Rage burns in his blood, but there’s something holding back his usual violent streak.

The man at his side grabs his arm, “my brother was on that ship today and your _friends_ tore him to shreds and… and fucking ate him for dinner!”

Alfie definitely doesn’t fucking like being touched, but…

The blue rock weighs him down.

The fist connects with his face before he can truly respond, but the punch is weakened by too much alcohol in the man’s system. Alfie stumbles back regardless, not keen on pursuing a grieving man at the fucking moment. There’s a crowd around him now.

The shell burns in his pocket and the rock weighs him down.

He leaves the pub with a black eye and heads home.

What the fuck is up with him? He should have at least fucking defended himself. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him like this, he can fucking handle himself in a fight. But today he just… couldn’t. He felt guilty, as stupid as that fucking sounds. Alfie had no fucking hand in the death of those people.

 _The merman might have, though_.

He shakes the thought as he enters his home.

It’s not much, his apartment, but it’s close to the docks and cosy enough for him. It’s located on the second floor of an old building overlooking the town square. There’s a small bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen and a living room. All in dark brown wood, old wooden furniture, old wooden walls, old red carpet, covered in clutter, mostly small trinkets and worthless items he’d collected over the years for no other reason than to have them. Annie says he’s almost as much of a hoarder as his mother was. 

Through the windows he can see the sea and the ships. At the centre of the square he can also see the glass water tank, used to execute mermaids. It’s empty. Alfie gets drunk and falls asleep in his armchair, gaze held on the shell and rock now placed neatly on the mantle of his fireplace, fighting himself in the dark.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alfie changes his daily routine little by little in the coming weeks. He begins spending more time at sea, replacing his sister’s tedious reading assignments with his mother’s books on mermaids. It’s been so long since he’s read them.

He avoids the pub, opting instead to wander the marketplace in evenings, buying crystals and other random decorative items. They’re pretty and shiny things, perfect as offerings for his new scaly friend who visits him every time he’s at sea now, though only ever to stare or eat fish.

Not very talkative, but he does bring gifts himself, gifts that end up on Alfie’s fireplace. Several colourful rocks, shells and a silver necklace line his mantle now.

Alfie often tries to entice the merman into conversation, asking him for his name or whether he likes the fish he’d eaten, but he never receives an answer. He seems to get more comfortable over time, though, not darting away any time Alfie moves anymore and even lets him admire his purple and blue tail once or twice.

It’s a humbling sight for Alfie, leaning on the edge of his trawler as the merman lazily floats on his back. The tail is a true testament to the merman’s strength and beauty, a product of a membrane pulled over the merman’s legs and chitin scales with metals that give them their iridescent shine. Sheer blue tailfins move idly with the water, a delicate contrast to the hardness of the scales. He feels a connection when he looks up towards those sharp eyes staring back. Seems like he’s been witness to a sight rare men ever get to see.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s another day when the sea seems calm, fishing boats quietly drifting in the water. Alfie reads leant against the heavy door in his usual shady spot. It’s been an exhausting day. There was a problem with the pulling system, some small rocks got jammed between the gears. He’d spent the better part of the day fixing it and needed some rest so he decided some reading wouldn’t do any harm. Except that he’s only a couple of words in when his eyes begin to feel heavy and he dozes off in the shade again.

It’s a hazy sort of sleep, empty darkness as a result of fatigue. It’s the feeling of wet droplets hitting his hands that finally wakes him up. Rain? On a beautiful day like this?

Alfie opens his eyes and has to blink twice to make sure he’s not dreaming.

There, knelt over him, as close as one can get, stands the merman, naked and in his humanoid form. The shock of this precarious situation overwhelms Alfie and he yelps as the startled merman stumbles backwards, clearly having been caught off guard by the man waking up.

“Fuck,” Alfie hears him rumble and if it isn’t the sweetest sound he’s heard all fucking day. The merman’s voice is deep and raspy, contrasting his soft doll like appearance. He stands still for a moment, shock slightly subsided, and Alfie is able to get a good look at his full form.

Mermaids don’t wear clothing, they find it restrictive and the books say fabric feels uncomfortable to their skin. Modesty has no place in their community, so they are either covered decoratively in scales or not covered at all when they shift to their humanoid form.

Although they might seem like people at first, there are significant physiological differences. The major one being that mermaids and mermen have no external genitalia, a fact that is staring Alfie right in the face. Mermen have two slits along their bodies by the waist which serve as glands. Innocent enough, you would think. Why the fuck are Alfie’s cheeks burning then?

The merman is of similar height as Alfie, yet much paler and leaner. Though Alfie doesn’t for one second doubt the merman could easily overpower him if he so desired. Weak, these beings are not. Alfie’s eyes wander over the merman’s, a warm feeling coiling in his gut. Fuck, this is going to a dangerous place.

He decides to look away, blushing like a fucking virgin, but what can he do. Mermaids may not have a concept of shame, but Alfie sure does. He goes to stand, the forgotten book clattering as it falls to the ground. The merman takes a few steps back, but doesn’t leap for the water just yet.

“Right,” he begins, “sorry about that, you startled me, is all.”

Fidgeting with his shirt gives him something to focus on other than that one salacious droplet of water traveling along the merman’s navel, “you, uh, feel like giving me your name yet? Don’t get me wrong, you’re the best listener I’ve ever had the pleasure to talk to, but I surely wouldn’t mind if you piped in here and there,” he tries to will the nervousness from his voice.

The merman stares at him for a moment longer, something akin to a smirk lingering on those sinful lips, before he jumps off of the boat and disappears. Again.

Alfie sighs and picks up his book, wondering where the other one is, the one on mermaid biology. This one goes back on the shelf below deck and Alfie goes back to work.

In the evening, just as he’s about to set sail for home, he hears the tell-tale sound of water signalling a particular merman dangling off his usual spot on the side of the boat.

“I’m Tommy,” the raspy voice says almost shyly and he’s off before Alfie has the chance to reply.

“Hello Tommy,” he smiles to the empty space.


	4. The Salt that tastets like God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie gets a visit from his concerned cousin.  
> At sea, his relationship with Tommy develops.

“Where’s this from?” Annie asks picking up the broken silver necklace from where it lay on the mantle. She’d come to bring groceries, as she does, because Alfie can’t be fucked to buy anything but the barest of necessities to keep himself alive. Not very demanding, is he?

Apparently, though, Annie is of the firm belief that variety, yeah, is _necessary_ and therefore uses buying the green shit Alfie barely ever touches as an excuse to check in on him. This time she decided to stay for tea, no doubt to inquire about his wellbeing in greater depth. The tea she, of fucking course, brought herself as well.

“It’s… well… you know how things get fucking tangled up in that fucking net, right? Thought I might keep this one. Might be worth something,” he gestures nowhere in particular as he turns to tend the now whistling kettle and makes their tea. It helps avoiding the scrutinising gaze of his cousin.

“Hm, looks great with the… rocks and seashells,” she puts the necklace back down and crosses her arms, assessing the growing arrangement of items on the fireplace, “some pearls as well, I see.”

Having finished making the tea, Alfie has no choice but to face her. Annie points in the general direction of the pearls Tommy had brought him earlier that day and raises her eyebrows. He can’t think of an answer immediately, so the uncomfortable silence lingers as she comes back into the kitchen, takes her tea and leans on the wall facing him where he stands at the kitchen counter.

“I’ve seen this before, Alfie,” there’s obvious worry in the way she rubs her cup, “the shelves full of junk, the self-isolation. I heard you’ve stopped going to that bar you and dad used to hang out at all the time. Your mother had shelves like that, I remember-,”

“What are you saying, Annie?” he’s frustrated with where this is going. He is _not_ his mother and Annie shouldn’t be fucking worrying about him like this. Sure, he’s having some trouble justifying his new friendship with a merman to himself when he’s ashore, but it’s an issue that concerns him and only fucking him. Telling Annie would just make things worse, yeah, so there’s no need for her to stick her nose into this.

“I don’t believe these are from nets.”

“Not all of them, no,” he’s taken aback by her frankness, but tries not to let it show, “the… the fucking necklace is from the nets and the other stuff is from walks… at the shore,” he can’t look her in the eyes when he lies, “I take walks in the evening instead of getting drunk in a fucking pub. I take a trinket from the beach to count the days I go there, right? Sort of… motivation, innit? To do me some good.”

It’s not completely unbelievable, but he reckons his cousin is not convinced. She’s always been too smart for her own good. Sure enough, when he looks up, the concerned wrinkle she gets between her brows is as present as ever.

Still, she deflates, “all right.”

Whether she bought his lies or not, she decides not to press any further, which Alfie is grateful for. They drink their tea at the kitchen table. Their words are tainted with the odd tension still lingering in the air, but neither seems willing to address it.

Annie loves talking about her two little girls. Eve apparently has a newfound love of cats and Leah has grown into quite the little artist.

“It’s been a while since you’ve visited us. They miss you.”

“Yeah, well,” he looks at the now empty cup and runs a finger along its side, “you know how these things are, fish are scarce these days and pushing deeper requires more time… I’ll see what I can do, yeah?”

This time Annie only nods. It’s easier to believe because it’s partially true. There _has_ been a greater push towards deeper waters, but Alfie doesn’t go that deep. It’s not safe. Besides, he’s got a soft spot for his usual fishing site despite the catches not being what they used to be.

Annie stays a little longer and they talk. Her eyes drift towards the living room every now and then and Alfie fears she might bring up the pearls again, but to his relief she doesn’t. She leaves late with the usual quick hug and “be careful” lovingly muttered as she pats his back.

Alfie looks at the mantle. He hadn’t been expecting his sister to come over today, still he shouldn’t have laid the pieces out so openly. One by one, the items are carefully put away in his drawer by the bed. When he carries over the first gift he received, the pretty shell and blue rock, they stay in his hand. Instead of the drawer, he puts them on his nightstand. Can’t hurt to have them out, right? Just two decorative items, no fucking suspicion there.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today the sea is roaring. Dark grey clouds and violent winds shake the few boats at sea. There is no rain yet, but the sound of thunder above bodes ill. Alfie is below deck, intent on waiting the storm out anchored in shallow waters. He assumes the worst of it will be far east from him, so there shouldn’t be much trouble beyond a slightly rocky boat and some rumble. Still, he doesn’t like tempting fate, and decides to stay put.

He’s reading his mother’s book “The physiology of Mermaids and Mermen” when he hears a thump on his left, no doubt Tommy saying hello. The merman is, as expected, dangling off the boat on his usual spot when Alfie goes to check.

In recent days, Alfie’s monologues had become actual dialogue. Well, sort of. Alfie had been telling him about his life, his cousin, his work. Sometimes he’d tell him stories, made up and true. Any attempts in engaging the other in conversation had been mostly futile, resulting in little more than a grunt and a smile, but the occasional verbal response was something Alfie savoured like fine wine.

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait today,” he shouts through the howling wind, pointing at the clouds, “have to let it pass.” Tommy’s face wrinkles in disappointment and Alfie has to stop himself from smiling at the sight.

“You could come down with me, if you like,” he proposes innocently. Alfie doesn’t expect Tommy to accept, but he offers anyways. He likes it when Tommy’s unsure about something, makes him look like an adorable puppy, the way he cocks his head and his expression shifts. Tommy doesn’t disappoint, furrowing his brow in concentration, staring intensely at nothing in particular. There’s a slight pout to his lips and oh doesn’t Alfie just love watching him like that.

He’s about to go back inside when Tommy lifts himself over the edge of the boat and steps on deck, scales scattering around from the now absent tail. He casually walks past Alfie and down the steps. Alfie chuckles a little in his surprise, but doesn’t linger too long before following the merman inside.

Tommy brings with himself a faint smell of blood, Alfie notices, and it makes his skin prickle. He is also still very fuckin naked, which Alfie only fully realises after Tommy bends to inspect the lower shelves next to the washbasin. He feels dizzy from the blood leaving his brain and he has to cough in order to get both his and Tommy’s attention to… well something that doesn’t require the merman to bend.

“This is, uh, fucking not gonna work like this, mate,” he waves towards Tommy who is now facing him with visible confusion, “you, dear sir, need some fucking clothes, averse as you might be to the idea.”

Alfie walks to his closed and rummages through his things in search for something appropriate. He decides that his old off-white nightshirt should do. It would cover Tommy well enough to keep Alfie’s baser instincts in check and it wouldn’t inhibit Tommy’s ability to draw down his tail. He turns around holds out his finding with his left arm, offering it to the merman.

“No,” is all Tommy says and ignores Alfie in favour of stubbornly sitting down on the couch. Alfie sighs and sits down close next to him with the nightshirt still in hand. He holds it out and tries his best to speak softly, not wanting to enrage his scaly friend.

“You can’t walk around naked, treacle, it’s… well it’s distracting, yeah? Where I come from there’s this thing… modesty. Not that it really fucking means anything to me… I mean you don’t have to wear anything, but I’d really prefer it if you did. I’m not saying I don’t like the fucking view, yeah, it’s just… well not that conducive to conversation, is it? It’s just a nightshirt, no pants, it won’t hurt you or anything.”

Alfie looks at Tommy with the most pleading expression he can manage and the merman seems to consider his words carefully. He reluctantly takes the nightshirt and inspects it with open disgust. Alfie notices his struggle and helps him pull it over his head with some trouble.

“There we go,” he smiles as Tommy’s head pokes out of the collar, hair dishevelled and eyes glaring.

“Thank you, Tommy.”

Gratitude seems to brighten the merman’s mood significantly and he decides to shift his attention to Alfie now, lifting his hand up slowly to reach for the v of the collar on the man’s shirt. Alfie tenses up momentarily as Tommy tugs at it, “off,” he says as he looks Alfie dead in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, what?” Alfie still stays frozen, confused, attempting desperately to get his mind out of fucking the gutter. Lost fucking cause.

“I want to see the scar,” Tommy’s voice is a deep whisper in the silence around them. His hand moves from the shirt to Alfie’s right side where he feels for ripped flesh through the fabric.

He wants to what? Alfie isn’t sure why Tommy wants to see his ugly fucking scar, but he complies, moving to take of his shirt. Tommy retracts his hand to watch him undress patiently. Although Alfie has never been shy about his body, he suddenly feels extremely insecure under the observant eyes of his amphibian companion.

Once he’s bared his torso, Alfie lifts up his right arm and rests it on the back of the couch, giving Tommy a good look at the scar. He tries to not to blush, but he can’t help but feel incredibly warm despite his state of dress.

Tommy now moves closer and hesitantly traces the seam of the wound, his cold fingers sending tingles across Alfie’s body. He has to close his eyes to focus on anything other than the electrifying touch.

“You did this to yourself to save me… why?”

That… that is a good fucking question innit? And surprising, too. Alfie takes a moment to think. He meets the merman’s expecting gaze at his side. Really, he thinks, the answer isn’t that fucking complicated.

“You needed help.”

Tommy chuckles, short huffs of air accompanied by a devilish little smirk and it _does_ things to Alfie. As he smiles, he leans his head on the couch, the salty strands of his hair brushing against Alfie’s forearm where it rests. The hair curls slightly at the ends where its begun to dry, and Tommy is looking at him now with those big blue eyes, the smile now softer and _fuck_ _almighty_ if he isn’t just the most beautiful being in the gentle glow of the room’s warm light. Alfie doesn’t even have time to question his actions before he leans into kiss him.

The taste of salt and the feel of cold soft sandpaper greet his lips eagerly. It’s a short loss of restraint for Alfie, no more than a peck one could say, but he panics regardless and pulls away.

Alfie clears his throat and stands up to get some much-needed distance between them, muttering something under his breath as he scrambles to put his shirt back on.

“You want some tea? Sure you do, mermaids love tea, right?” he manages to stumble the words out and move further away from Tommy to fill the kettle with water. His back is turned to the merman, he can’t really face him right now, face feeling hot as coal. What the fuck was he thinking? Nothing, really, which is the fucking problem here, innit?

He can’t do this. He shouldn’t do this. Tommy is a merman and they _eat_ people. Fucking shit what has he gotten himself into?

Alfie’s mind is spinning. He closes his eyes and tells himself to breathe. One deep breath. And another.

And another.

He feels water spilling over his hands, but it’s the icy hand on the small of his back that truly brings him back to reality.

“I’m not sure how these things work,” Alfie hears him speak in a voice that should _not_ be as erotic as it is, “but doesn’t the water spilling out mean that it’s full?”

Tommy turns his head towards Alfie, a playful smile dancing on his lips. He seems utterly unfazed by what just happened, delighted even, one might fucking say.

Alfie tries to ignore it when Tommy presses close on his right, when he rests his chin on his shoulder, deciding to instead deal with the overflowing kettle as if it required all of his attention right now. He empties it halfway and steps away from the merman to put it over the fire.

This has gone too far, it needs to end before things escalate, he can’t well fuck a goddamn merman. At least that’s what he means to say when he turns towards Tommy before noticing that he is closer than anticipated and of fucking course he is _naked_ once again, Alfie’s nightshirt lays discarded somewhere by the couch.

The warm glow of the fire softly illuminates his naked form and it takes all of Alfie’s restraint to not reach out and pull him close that instant. The face of an angel is staring back at him with lips parted and a wicked glint in his eyes.

“I thought we might be done with conversation,” the merman nods towards the shirt now laying on the floor, “no need for that anymore.”

Fuck.

For a moment Alfie thinks that, maybe, this doesn’t have to end badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was almost smut ;D See you next week, hope you're enjoying this <3


	5. Pulled under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie wakes up at his cousin's place with a headache after a night of drinking, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. His cousin is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to give you a heads up, this chapter has no Tommy ^^'  
> Hope you still enjoy the (one day early) update :D

Alfie wakes with a start to the sound of roosters crowing. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings. His head is pounding and last night is a haze, but he remembers going to his cousin’s place after… something with Tommy. Drunk, of course. The dull morning light radiating from the guestroom window pierces his head like and arrow. He tries to sit up, but it only makes his vision spin and his stomach turn.

Luckily, he notices a conveniently placed bucket at the side of his bed just in time to vomit into it. Can’t well fucking puke all over his dear cousin’s expensive sheets, can he? Fucking hell, he feels like a corpse. A fancy fucking corpse on a mound of embroidered pillows, but a corpse nonetheless.

It takes him several moments to try and piece together what exactly happened last night from the puzzle pieces left in his flaky memory. Tommy wearing his shirt and then _not_ wearing it. Alfie closing the distance between them and kissing him intensely, running calloused hands along smooth skin. Then… bells.

Bells and shouting. Another fucking attack. Fuck.

Did Tommy really hold his hands over Alfie’s ears to block out the singing? He must have, why else would that image be so fucking vivid in his mind? Tommy disappeared after that and Alfie went home. Confusing fucking night. Alfie didn’t fucking know what to do with himself so he drank. One, maybe two bottles of gin later and he’s at Annie’s. That’s where it begins to cut out. How the fuck did he even get here?

Even more important, what the fuck did he say?

Maybe he could piece more together if his head would stop throbbing for one goddamn fucking second and he wouldn’t have to use most of his concentration to prevent another retch. He hears footsteps approaching and it feels as if they’re walking on his head.

The door to his room opens and he squints to see Annie in an elegant emerald long dress with a dark red and black shawl draped around her. He can’t quite make out her face right now, but he doubts it’s positively inclined towards him at the moment.

“The maids said they heard ungodly noises,” she says, leaning on the doorframe, sympathy very much absent from her voice, “they wanted to come and check on you. I told them not to bother.”

Alfie knows he deserves it, but does she have to be so loud? Her voice cuts into him like a sharp blade and he has to close his eyes.

There’s a sigh, some footsteps and then he feels Annie’s hand on his, her expensive perfume making his stomach protest again, though he manages to keep what’s inside him _in-fucking-side_ , as it ought to be.

“I’ll have them bring you water and something for the pain,” she whispers, all malice gone from her voice. Never could stay mad at him for long, could she?

“Thank you,” his voice is low and raspy and his throat hurts when he speaks. Annie understands that he is in no state to be scolded right now, so she gives his hand a friendly squeeze and leaves the room.

Moments later he is being tended to by several maids. They give him some pills and water and take away the bucket. A couple of hours of laying in bed with the curtains now drawn, he feels well enough to take a bath. As he puts on the clothing laid out to him on the dark dresser across the bed, he feels almost like himself again, though he doubts he can eat anything right now and his movements are still somewhat pained.

He ambles out of the guestroom into the rest of the lavish house where he finds the kitchen with a little help from Shelley, one of the maids who doted on him earlier. She’s young and smiles a lot, even offers to help Alfie walk, but he politely refuses. He can fucking walk well enough on his own, for fuck’s sake. In the kitchen, she makes him tea and he asks for Lizbeth.

“The lady is out,” she says with a playful tone, “they went to the Changretta’s for tea and some horse riding.”

She sits across from Alfie and leans in, “won’t be back for another hour, I reckon.”

Alfie grunts in response. Shelley sits with him for a while, talking about how the head maid is too hard on her and how she can’t wait for her knight in shining armour to come and whisk her away. He doesn’t miss the subtle flirtatious touches, but chooses not to entertain them and soon enough he is saved by the shout of another maid who scolds Shelley for not having hung the laundry yet. She leaves with a huff and Alfie is left alone at the kitchen table, staring out the window.

Annie’s husband inherited this mansion after his parents died at sea. It’s large enough for two families and even has rooms meant for the servants. Alfie never liked the shiny white wood all over the fucking place or the overabundance of flowers on every fucking surface imaginable. Seems a bit… too much. It’s also too fucking tidy. No fucking life in this place.

His issues, however, lie more with the fact that Annie never really cared much for her husband, having given up on love a long time ago. Sure, he was decent to her, Alfie wouldn’t tolerate anything less than that, and he had a fuckton of money, but they were never in love. It’s his mother’s influence, no doubt. The forlorn lover, cast aside, doomed to madness. So much pain. Easier to be alone or with someone who doesn’t ignite such unrelenting need.

Alfie can’t say he agrees, not anymore, not now that he has the potential for it. Love. With a fucking merman, of all things. Can’t fucking lie to himself, he’s shit at it. Troublesome as it may be, he’s become very…. _attached_ to Tommy.

There’s something behind those eyes so carefree and mysterious, he can’t help himself but want to explore the possibilities now offered to him. And Tommy is oh so very fucking receptive to physical contact, but whether he shares the warm fuzzy feelings is a completely different thing. A sudden insecurity takes root in the back of Alfie’s mind.

_Merpeople, by default, do not have monogamous relationships. It is due to their culture of community, where all things are shared, including physical affection. Interestingly enough, there are often instances of sub-communities forming, like families, among those who feel strong connections with one another. Close, two person relationships, intimate or not, are rarely observed._

Rarely observed. The words echo in his mind. He’d just read that a couple of days ago, but had ignored the implications at the time, not thinking it applied to them anyways. But it _does_ now… doesn’t it?

There’s no use in denying that he wants more, which only serves to fuel the guilt settled neatly in his gut. And as if that weren’t enough, another thought comes to mind.

Tommy was very obsessed with his scar. The scar he got from saving him. Fuck, is he doing this out of some misplaced sense of gratitude or something?

It’s all unpleasant thoughts combined with a returning headache and he doesn’t notice there are other people around until a slender hand touches his shoulder.

“Alfie, you all right?”

He turns to see his cousin standing next to him in that same dress and shawl, attempting to hide her usual concern with a smile. He nods. Behind her, two young girls come dashing and a male voice can be heard, “No running in the house!”

“Uncle Alfie!” they yell as they run around their mother to hug him, however awkwardly with him still sitting in the chair. He feels a shooting pain in his head at the sound of their voices but still forces a smile and hugs them back.

“Hello young ladies, my how you’ve grown! What have they been feeding you?” He tries to sound cheerful and at least the girls are buying it, but then again, they are 5 and 7 years old.

“Sweets!” Leah yells but whispers “sorry” after she sees Alfie wince.

Darby, Annie’s husband, peeks his head through the door frame and nods in greeting to Alfie. He seems on edge.

“I’ll be off then,” Darby says curtly and leaves. Alfie gives Annie, who is now sitting next to him, a questioning look and she just raises her eyebrows back.

“Girls, I think you should go and play in the garden a little,” she says without removing he gaze from him.

“Can uncle Alfie join us?” Eve asks, “We could show him the bush house!”

“Later, perhaps,” their mother answers, attention still fully on her cousin. The girls run off towards the back of the house and Alfie does his very best to not look how he feels.

“You look like shit,” Annie starts. He was never any fucking good at hiding anything.

“Well that is what hangovers tend to do, my dear cousin, right? Make everything… mushy. For a bit at least.”

“Only when you’ve half-drunk yourself to death… I mean seriously, what happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m sorry I came here.”

“It’s good that you came here, who knows what would have happened to you if you didn’t.”

Alfie doesn’t feel like keeping eye contact, opting instead to stare out of the window. Annie picks up his cup and carries it to the counter, where she sets about making them both some more tea.

“Have you eaten?” she asks over her shoulder.

“Can’t really… eat right now. Bit of a drama queen, my stomach,” he mutters, but she brings him some bread and butter regardless.

“Do you even remember last night? I’m guessing no.”

Alfie has the decency to stay quiet.

“See, you showed up, drunk off your rocker, in the middle of the night by carriage, telling me how… _It’s all fucked, Annie,_ ” she gestures dramatically at the last words then tilts her head and raises her eyebrows.

When all she receives in answer is a shrug, she goes on, “and then we haul you upstairs to the guestroom, because you sure as fuck couldn’t get up there on your own, and you start speaking some bullshit about _purple scales in the moonlight_ , whatever the fuck that means-,”

Uh oh.

“-and how blue eyes _glisten in the sun_ -,”

Please no.

“-and how, what was it? _Salt on sandpaper that tastes like god_? What the fuck does that even mean?” her hands fling up in frustration as she speaks. If Alfie could bury himself deep underground right now, he definitely fucking would. But at least he didn’t-

“Also, who the fuck is Tommy?”

Alfie can feel his blood freeze and his muscles tense. Annie notices the shift in his demeanour and leans back, waiting for him to speak.

Fuck. So he told her… something, he’s not even sure what. Could she piece it together on her own? She’s always been a smart one, hasn’t she? Fucking hell, this whole morning has been nothing but one blow after another. Can’t fucking sort out his own feelings or guess Tommy’s and the fucking hangover does him no good either. It’s an easy slip up when he says, “I’m in deep shit, Annie.”

She takes his hand, “tell me.”

“I think I’m falling for a merman.”

Short. Concise. Honest. But he can’t look at her now, even though he feels relieved having finally said it out loud, given his feelings some space to occupy other than his troubled head. Felt like they were pushing at the walls of his skull. Now they’re a burden shared with someone he trusts. Her hand squeezes his.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, “you can’t pursue him. You know that, right?”

Alfie looks at her, unsure what to make of her words.

“Alfie please tell me you haven’t fucked him,” Annie asks with a subtle tone of disgust Alfie can’t fucking ignore.

“No,” he spits, more forceful than he meant to, anger washing away the threat of tears, “but would that be so bad?”

She huffs out a humourless chuckle and takes back her hand, “yes cousin, it would. _He_ is a _merman_ and _you_ ,” she pokes at his chest, “are his fucking lunch.”

“He’s not going to eat me,” Alfie says, half convincing her, half convincing himself, “we’re close.”

“You’re _close_? I’m sorry, what? How long has this been going on Alfie? What have you done?”

“I haven’t fucking done anything,” he half shouts in return, feeling defiant, “he showed up one day and _didn’t_ eat me and we… sort of… became friends,” he trails off, “he’s been keeping me company at sea and… we got close.”

“ _How_ close?” Annie asks, but when he doesn’t answer, she continues, hit by realisation, “close enough for him to bring you shells and pearls, I guess. Fuck, Alfie, this has been going on for _months_?!”

“You don’t understand,” he begins, but is cut off by his cousin, “What don’t I understand? Hm? You want to tell me this is about love, eh? That it?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You’re not going to get love from a fucking fish, Alfie!”

“Well I’m not gonna get it from some random fucking sailor at the pub!” he shouts back, tired of his cousin’s scrutiny.

“Have you tried?! Have you even fucking tried, huh? Seems to me like you just fucking went swimming with your dick out and now you wanna fuck the first thing that tugged!”

Alfie slams his hands on the table and stands. His heart is thrumming away in his ears and he turns away from his cousin and leaves. Can’t fucking handle this right now. Alfie slams the front door on his way out, not bothering to say goodbye. There is no carriage to take him back to town, but he prefers walking back anyways. Gives him time to think. Time to calm down.

She’s wrong. She doesn’t understand. He can’t explain it, how he feels when Tommy is around, but it’s… it’s special. And it scares him. But he’s not running away from it.

He throws up at the side of the road once or twice, but is able to walk home through the pain on adrenaline alone and only collapses once he reaches his bed. He thinks of Tommy’s wicked smile and the freckles on his face before he slips into a dreamless sleep.

She doesn’t fucking understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know, I ended the last one with a bit of a smut cliffhanger and this one does not have any sexy times. Next week though, I promise :P


	6. Sandpaper on Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Tommy meet again. Things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut time?  
> Smut time.

It’s evening and the sun is setting, a pink sky illuminating Alfie’s apartment in soft cold light. Alfie lays in his bed looking at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of townspeople milling about outside his window. There are seagulls squawking in the distance. He thinks about his conversation with Annie.

It’s a bit sad, right, but how could she understand his feelings if she’s never felt like this about anyone before? And Alfie knows she hasn’t. He almost feels sorry for her.

If she told anyone, he’d be dead come morning, that much is very very clear to him. Being a gill sympathiser is one thing, but courting a mermaid earns one a slap with a brick to the head in a dark alley when no one’s looking. But Annie wouldn’t do such a thing.

Would she?

Alfie pushes that thought aside immediately. She’s his cousin and they’ve been through so much together. Annie cares far too fucking much to betray him like that. His uncle, her father, took him in after Alfie’s mother died, but he never liked either of them.

Annie, who is a girl and _not_ a firstborn son, was little more than a glorified maid in their household while Alfie was made to work alongside his uncle at sea, no matter the risks or his lack of experience. Or the fact that he was only a kid back then.

He remembers spending long hours in the night talking to her. They were each other’s rock. Then she turned 19 and caught the eye of a rich man while buying parsley and basil at the market and she found a way out their own little hell. Alfie doesn’t blame her. 

He, however, stayed with his uncle until the man died in his sleep, good fucking riddance, inheriting the old trawler and dingy house. A lonely and desolate house. Alfie didn’t like living there for many reasons, but it was the unsettling presence of the old maids that finally made him sell it and buy his apartment in town. Hasn’t changed much of a thing since he moved in.

Alfie leans against the headboard of his bed. On his right, he spots the pretty shell and blue rock and thinks of Tommy. He’s no longer in denial about his feelings towards the merman, but one question still remains. What now?

The merman seemed more than ready to reciprocate physical affection last night on the boat, but could he even imagine anything more? How would any of it even work? Could they even…?

He stands a bit to quickly for his body’s liking and has to steady himself on his dresser, his head suddenly spinning again. Still not quite over that fucking hangover.

After a few deep breaths, he manages to walk over to the fireplace in the living room and pick up the book he was reading yesterday, “The physiology of Mermaids and Mermen”. Surprisingly, he’d remembered to bring it home.

Holding it gently with his right hand, Alfie ghosts his fingers along its old leather spine. He remembers reading his mother’s books a lot as a child, even if he rarely understood anything written in them. It feels odd to have use for them… especially _this_ kind of use. He flips through it until he finds the section titled “Reproduction”, skimming through the chapter until he finds what he needs.

_Mermaids, unsurprisingly, do in fact feel sexual pleasure. Below is a diagram of erogenous zones as determined by interviewing friendly mermaids and mermen._

The diagram has highlighted areas across two sketches, one a mermaid and the other a merman. For some fucking reason Alfie fucking _blushes_ as he reads and has to take a deep breath to cool the pooling heat in his abdomen.

He’s embarrassed but still makes a mental note of the highlighted areas before he swiftly closes the book and puts it back. Just in case, right? Can’t well stumble into a sexual encounter without _some_ information, right? Common courtesy and all.

It’s getting late and he’s barely eaten anything all day so he decides to make himself dinner. Tomorrow he’ll go back out to sea and see Tommy. Maybe they can figure this out together.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sea is cursed with strong winds today, as if the air were in a hurry. Grey clouds cover the sky and block the sun’s radiating heat, though there is no real threat of rain or thunder. Alfie’s small trawler rocks in the crushing waves and he pulls at the net, cursing at the old rusty boat.

“Fucking piece of shit,” he grunts as he tries to pull at a piece of wire that got stuck. He’s distracted and full of nervous energy, which makes him fumble with the machinery the way he used to as a boy, when he’d get yelled at to move it or take a dunk in the water. He can almost hear his uncle’s voice.

“Do you need any help with that?” Alfie jolts at the sudden appearance of Tommy at his right side, close but not quite touching, face one of pure innocence. Already, the merman’s presence gives him the feeling of static on his skin.

He clears his throat and gives up on the wire, moving away from Tommy to wipe the grease off of his hands with a towel.

“Hello there. Glad you, uh, managed to avoid all those javelins yesterday, treacle,” he tries to sound casual as he’s cleaning his fingers, keeping his gaze low.

“Thank you. Glad you didn’t get eaten,” Tommy answers with a playful lilt to his words, “I believe we were interrupted. Would you like to pick up where we left off?”

Of course this wicked creature would ask outright, wouldn’t he? Not one to dance around the fucking issue, it would seem. Still, it catches Alfie off guard and he finally looks towards the merman, unsure what to say.

The sight before him surprises him yet again. How could he possibly forget that Tommy doesn’t fucking wear clothing? That he tends to ascend from the waters, the drops moving along slender hips, bringing attention to the shapes and spaces of his body, wet hair clinging to sharp cheeks.

Tommy’s head is cocked slightly to the right from having asked a question, but as the silence extends, Alfie notices concern behind those big blue eyes. He fidgets a little and looks down, “if you’ve changed your mind, I’d understand-,”

“No,” Alfie interrupts, “I mean, I’d love to… uh… well, continue with… well whatever that was. It was… nice.”

He’s fucking blushing again, like a fucking teenager stumbling his way through his first time. Alfie has never had issues regarding sex, he will have you know, but this is so… new to him.

Tommy’s smile returns at his words and he walks over to Alfie now, noticing his nerves and gladly taking charge. He pulls the towel from Alfie’s hands and ushers him towards the door inside.

“I understand your people prefer beds,” he says and Alfie only manages to hum in response, his arousal building in anticipation of what’s to come. Tommy leads him downstairs and then follows Alfie’s nod towards another door. Behind that is a small space, large enough for the queen-sized bed in it and little more.

Tommy turns to Alfie and he’s suddenly so fucking close. Alfie leans in for another kiss, bracing his arms on the merman’s hips. Tommy is ice-cold to the touch, but warms up gradually as their kisses deepen and their hands wander across each other’s bodies.

It doesn’t take long for the merman to tug at Alfie’s clothing, helping him undress. He feels oddly exposed as Tommy pulls down his underwear, wondering if he should explain himself, his body, how this works… maybe they should talk-

His thoughts stop to a grinding halt when Tommy takes him in his mouth with practiced ease and _fuck_ if it isn’t just the most divine feeling. Alfie lets his hand rest on Tommy’s head as the merman works him through and he doesn’t even have the processing power to wonder how the fuck Tommy knows how to do… well _that_.

When his hand slips lower, grazing Tommy’s neck on the spot with his top gill, Tommy moans around him in the most sinful fucking way and Alfie has to stop him otherwise their fun would end right fucking here, wouldn’t it?

Leading them both to the bed, Alife reaches into his tiny drawer to pull out a salve. He’s used it for sex before, but he doesn’t know if it will work for Tommy. After dipping two fingers in the container, he means to explain what he’s about to do, but Tommy once again proves he is no newcomer to this, straddling Alfie and guiding his coated fingers to his back.

Still, Alfie is careful as he prods at Tommy’s hole and delights in the shuddered little breaths and the lidded eyes that stare at him in want. Tommy rocks back onto his finger when he feels the intrusion is not enough and it’s all the encouragement Alfie needs to start working him open, nice and fucking good.

Tommy is panting now, leaning his head in for another kiss and Alfie reaches his free hand up to stroke at Tommy’s gills. One of the erogenous zones he remembers. And how he is proven right when his thumb brushes over the middle gill on Tommy’s right side and the merman moans into the kiss. He pulls back after that, a little surprised, but he doesn’t comment on it, only saying, “I’m ready.”

Alfie is the one on top now, lining himself up and checking Tommy for any panic. His merman might be experienced, but Alfie’s not going to assume anything. Tommy only nuzzles at Alfie’s nose, “on with it, big guy,” he speaks softly and Alfie pushes in slowly, carefully.

The stretch is still a bit much for Tommy, but he takes it gladly and soon he starts squirming for Alfie to move. Alfie does, pacing himself, bracing one hand on the bed and letting the other trace a line over Tommy’s body. There’s another place he’d like to touch.

He quickens his thrusts a little which makes Tommy gasp, but it’s when he angles it just right so that he hits _that spot_ in him that makes the merman plead for more. And more he gives, harder and faster, until he can feel the merman begin tensing around him. It’s then that he runs his thumb along one of the slits on Tommy’s abdomen, feeling the merman topple over into orgasm as he does.

And with the sinful sight of a sated beauty such as this, Alfie is not long to follow with a couple of well-aimed thrusts that make Tommy whine in the best fucking ways.

He leans forward, head on Tommy’s shoulder and catches his breath. He feels Tommy’s body against his and the slick release from his slits that signals his orgasm. Tommy breathes just as hard underneath him, but it doesn’t take long for pale fingers to trace idle patterns across his back as he rests.

Alfie pulls out with a groan, laying down on the bed next to Tommy. The merman holds him close against his chest, placing a soft kiss in his hair, “when you’re ready to go again, let me know.”

Dear god, he is insatiable, isn’t he?

“Give me a minute, love.”

Or two. Maybe three. Alfie’s no young man anymore.

Hours later, Tommy properly fucking sated and Alfie thoroughly fucking exhausted, they manage to fall asleep on the bed, the merman burying his face into the crook of Alfie’s neck.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Alfie wakes, he does so to the light of the moon peering through the small window next to the bed. He can feel the weight of the sleeping merman next to him. His body feels sore and exposed, the blanket laying somewhere out of reach. Tommy has gone cold at his side, being cold blooded as mermaids are, which doesn’t help his falling body temperature.

It’s a slight shiver that finally forces him out of bed, carefully of course, wouldn’t want to wake the sleeping beauty in there, would we? And what a sleeping beauty Tommy is. The cold light of the moon softens his harsh features, making him look younger, more innocent, fucking fragile. It ignites a protective instinct in Alfie, ridiculous as the notion of fragility is to such creatures as mermaids.

Alfie leaves the door to the bedroom slightly ajar as he lights a lamp by the washbasin so he can clean himself and change into some fresh clothes. A nightshirt and underwear will do for now. He then moves on to drink a glass of water and contemplate this evening’s events while rubbing his strained right side, his first thought being that maybe, just maybe, he might want to take it a little fucking easier next time.

Next time. Is there even going to be a next time?

Tommy clearly has experience with humans, that much is undeniable. Alfie wonders what happened to them. The others. It was easy to ignore the nagging questions about Tommy’s sexual life while he was… occupied otherwise, but now it makes him restless.

Did Tommy hurt them? Have a nice fuck and then eat them? With his… appetite surely no _one_ man could ever be enough. Does he just have several men he can visit? Or does he _conquer and devour_ , as the tales go?

Alfie’s infatuation with the merman may have greatly influenced his behaviour, he is willing to admit that, but he is now suddenly very fucking aware of how little he actually knows about Tommy. A shiver, not from the cold, creeps up his spine.

He’s bared himself with reckless abandon and is now left to the mercy of a _merman_. His people eat men like him every day. Would be fitting though, right? To die by the hands of a merman. Alfie’s did family always say he took after his mother.

He lets out humourless chuckle. Maybe Annie was right.

The door creaks as it opens and Tommy pads into the dimly lit room. He looks a beautiful mess. Hair standing at odd ends, body laden with sweat and dark marks left there by Alfie.

Alfie washes the towel out and walks towards him, an instinctual fear ever-present at the back of his mind. The merman rubs the sleep from his eyes and lets Alfie wipe his body, pliant and not quite awake yet.

The merman sways under his touch and presses close after he’s done, placing a peck on Alfie’s neck that sends a jolt of terror down his spine. He tenses and Tommy looks at him with a confused expression.

_Contrary to popular belief, mermaids usually do not like to watch their prey suffer. They will often bite first at the areas which lead to a swift death, usually at the neck of their prey._

“Is something wrong?” Tommy asks, rubbing Alfie’s back. Seems like he’s trying to be comforting.

Maybe make Alfie’s last moments pleasant.

Alfie, as many people might say, is a very fucking poor liar and has therefore spent most of his life blurting out his honest thoughts with no consideration of any possible consequences. One might think that not to be the best strategy, but in Alfie’s fucking defence, he had not expected the situations he now found himself in to be in such dire need of deception.

“Are you going to kill me?” not surprising that he should ask that, but he is fucking mad at himself anyways. Tommy’s face turns incredulous, the hand at Alfie’s back disappearing as the merman steps back and out of reach.

“Do I have reason?”

“I…well,” Alfie fumbles with his words, “I thought since the fun part’s done, right, and it’s obvious I’m not your first and…. I’m guessing they’re all dead so why wouldn’t I-,”

“I’m sorry, did you expect a virgin?”

“No, I just… well you’ve been with other _humans_ , right?”

“One, I’ve been with one,” Tommy huffs crossing his arms, “not that it’s any of your fucking business anyways, eh?”

“Well it sort of is,” Alfie, _don’t fucking say it_ , “if you killed him.”

Tommy is suddenly very close again and Alfie sees the fury in his eyes. This might fucking be it. Him and his big fucking mouth. He closes his eyes.

“No,” Tommy spits out, inches away from his face, “I didn’t fucking kill him.”

Alfie feels him loom there for a moment, but he doesn’t dare look, his eyes closed until he feels the air shift and hears Tommy stomp off towards the stairs.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s alone. Through deep breaths Alfie is able to calm his raging pulse. What the fuck just happened?

Why is he still alive?

It would be a relief if it weren’t for that pesky twist of guilt in his gut. Great fucking job, Alfie… couldn’t have possibly handled this better, eh? Fucking hell, he should have had more faith in Tommy. It doesn’t take long for him to run up on deck.

It’s dark outside and the sea is calm. No other ships are anywhere near. It looks entirely tranquil, black darkness of the water along with the starlit sky. Could be considered romantic, even. He screams out for Tommy a couple of times, but there is no answer, no sign of the merman anywhere. Alfie is left with nothing but the reflection of moonlight in the gentle black waves of the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear :P  
> Listen, I've never been good at smut, but I still hope it's passable, I'm way more comfortable writing shameless fluff.
> 
> I wonder what happens next ;D


	7. Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie finds himself in a percarious situation. Will Tommy return from the waves or were his words a misstep that can not be forgiven?

The last few weeks had been an isolating fucking mess for Alfie. He’d return to the sea and apologise to the waves every fucking day. Tommy hadn’t visited once. Still, Alfie would go out to sea, talk to the water and put gifts out for the merman, even if they would stay untouched through the day and he would have to throw them out before heading home.

Time, Tommy just needs time. Not a nice thing, what Alfie said, right? It’s okay to sulk a little. He’ll… he’ll be back. At least that’s what Alfie keeps telling himself.

At shore, there had been no word from his cousin either. No concerned letters or unexpected visits with grocery bags full of greenery. Alfie wanted to reach out several times, but found himself at a loss of words. What could he even say? She too needed more time, it would seem.

Time. A lot of fucking time that Alfie spent alone, underfed and fucking regretful, living through life more like a ghost than a person, fucking haunting the places he’d been living in before.

A mundane routine that stretched into eternity. Wake up early, leave for the sea, apologise to the empty spaces where someone you fucking cared for used to be, work, go home and sleep.

Today is no fucking different.

Many ships surround his small trawler. Alfie feels lost in the crowd. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who decided to follow the mysterious new warm current that ought to bring with it more fish. It makes him nervous. This place is deep in mermaid territory, too close for this many humans. Even the other fishermen seem on edge. 

Alfie doesn’t remember where he left the earplugs Ollie had given him, but he makes a mental note to go look for them once he’s finished lowering the net into the water. He doesn’t expect an attack, but better to be fucking safe than sorry.

He should have gone an fetch them immediately, he thinks as something shiny catches his eye not too far to his left. Alfie cranes his neck to try and see better. If it’s Tommy, he does _not_ want to ring that fucking bell.

Whatever was there is long gone, but before he can truly process the danger, he notices something rising from the depths close by. Young, pretty, long blonde wavy hair and an orange tail that shines golden in the sun.

A Singer.

Fuck.

Alfie turns to ring the bell, but it’s too late. The melody envelops his mind like a blanket, making him focus entirely on her. It’s intoxicating and warm and he wants to get closer. Needs to get closer. He doesn’t even notice the cold when he jumps in the water still fully clad and swims towards the singing. It’s difficult to get his body to cooperate, but he manages to somehow move in her direction.

Mind warped by the pleasant buzz of a heavenly voice, Alfie doesn’t even flinch when he’s pulled under. But the water muffles the melody and the deeper he gets, the farther away he is from that warm blanket, that soft buzz. His daze is broken. Panic hits him like a brick wall.

There are hands grabbing at him. Tails, faces and hair fucking everywhere. The cold water pricking as if he were swimming in needles. Alfie tries to hold his breath and free himself, but he has no real strength, no real leverage.

Thrashing around with closed eyes like a fish out of water, his futile struggle leads to bites at his arms and legs which make him grunt out the breath he was holding. The bubbles rise as the pain sinks in, water forcing its way into Alfie’s lungs. He desparately needs air.

Another moment goes by and the hands grabbing him disappear. He feels movement in the water as he begins rising to the surface. Alfie opens his eyes to see the deep blue and black of the water obscured by his own blood, but there’s an unmistakable shine of purple scales in the darkness.

There’s no time to linger, Alfie swims up to the surface. His first gasp for air is a fucking painful one, the water in his lungs burning. Immediately, the pain fades. So does the blood and screaming. Once again, he is trapped in that melody, warmth creeping its way back under his skin.

Being closer to it is all he can imagine, but before he gets anywhere near it, strong hands pull him back until he’s set flush against someone’s torso. Alfie doesn’t have the will to wonder what’s going on, he only wishes to follow the warmth so he tries to free himself.

On land, Alfie might be able to overpower a mermaid on a good day, but in water, the tail is too large of an advantage that leaves him powerless in the arms of his captor. Alfie feels the press of lips behind his left ear followed by soft humming. It’s the same melody sung by the Singer, but it’s quieter. Intimate. Familiar.

It’s Tommy’s voice that now drowns him in an entirely different haze. There is no need to swim anywhere, the melody has come to him and Alfie floats limp in the water. Tommy leads them back to the boat and practically hauls him aboard, quickly following the man to resume his melody by Alfie’s side.

Alfie is gently led below deck on shaky legs, getting a respite from all the singing once the door is closed and the outside becomes muffled. Everything is so far away when Tommy stops humming, but his mind is still pleasantly foggy.

Tommy is an ethereal beauty. Alfie can’t take his eyes off of him. If he could he’d just stand there and stare at him forever. With the melody still in his mind, he just fucking might. Tommy. His Tommy.

A shiver wracks his frame, but Alfie doesn’t care. Tommy, however, gets that adorable crease between his brows. Something clicks in the merman’s head and he begins undressing Alfie. The wet clothing is discarded in a heap and Alfie is manhandled towards the washbasin, where Tommy mirrors Alfie’s movements from their last encounter, gently washing the entranced man with a towel dipped in lukewarm water.

Alfie closes his eyes, bathing in the softness of his merman’s touch. He is pulled onto the couch where Tommy cleans the bite marks on his body. Alfie stares at him openly again, watching him work.

Once the wounds are cleaned, Tommy looks around and steps over to where he spots the first aid kit, returning with gauze and alcohol. The sting of it pierces lightly through Alfie’s haze, making him wince. Still, his eyes are set on Tommy and the details of his face. Entrancing comfort almost lulls him into sleep, but he is suddenly pulled up to his feet, familiar steadying hands helping him walk towards the bedroom.

Tommy helps him lay down and covers him with the duvet, but Alfie still shivers lightly underneath, so the merman covers him with a blanket too. The fog in Alfie’s mind dissipates enough for him to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s face softens and he lets himself be pulled onto the bed, laying face to face with Alfie, but staying over the covers. The only thing of the man laying next to him sticking out of the blanket is part of his arm and his face from the nose up.

“I know,” Tommy whispers, a smile ghosting his face, “I heard you the first thirty times.”

His arm slightly clings to Tommy’s even though the merman makes no move to leave. Alfie does his best to stay awake.

“Sleep,” Tommy orders after a couple of moments, “the melody will wear off in a few hours.”

But Alfie doesn’t want to fucking sleep. Even in this state of mind the fear of waking up alone without Tommy is strong enough to keep him awake. He wants to speak, but he can’t. Not really. Alfie places his hand on Tommy’s hip, squeezing slightly. Pulling him closer. It’s a sign of affection, a plea to stay. There’s no other way for him to communicate that right now so he just stares at those blue eyes and hopes to find some understating in them.

Tommy moves closer, pressing Alfie’s head to his chest and places a kiss on the top of his head.

“It’s alright Alfie, sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

The words are muttered in his hair and Alfie finally lets himself drift off.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s dark.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t move.

Alfie looks up to see the light from the surface move further away as a growing number of hungry hands pull him into the depths. He tries to scream, but there’s no fucking air. Blood rushes in around him and his limbs are stinging. He’s being pulled apart and he can’t fucking breathe. A dark red mist clouds his vision. He can’t see the surface anymore. Fear turns into panic and he tries to thrash around. But he can’t move.

A press of cold against his shoulder.

“Alfie?” a whisper in the distance, but he can’t respond. There’s no air. He wants to scream.

“Alfe,” the cold sharpens, the whisper is closer.

It’s like popping a balloon when he snaps his eyes open and wakes. He’s in the bedroom below deck, the air too hot and he still can’t breathe. Sweat drips down his back and Tommy is there, sitting in front of him, left hand on his shoulder, his palm cool against Alfie’s overheated skin.

“You’re all right,” Tommy says, “just breathe.”

But he can’t. There’s still no air. He’ll drown. The other’s, they’ll eat him-

Tommy takes Alfie’s hand and moves it over to his chest in slow deliberate movements, taking a deep breath before exhaling.

“Follow my lead, Alfie. I know you can do it.”

Alfie tries. His breaths are shaky and uneven, but he eventually manages to follow Tommy’s rhythm and the panic subsides.

“Better?”

Alfie only manages to grunt in response. He leans back against the pillow and tries to gather his thoughts. A lot has happened in the last couple of hours and his mind was half gone for most of it.

Another attack, this time Alfie’s relentless lack of self-preservation skills putting him right at the mermaid’s mouth. But he didn’t die, did he?

He should have. He very fucking well should have. But Tommy saved him.

Alfie’s head instinctively jerks towards the merman when he stands, moving to the sink to bring back another damp towel. It cools Alfie’s skin as he presses it to his forehead.

No, Tommy didn’t just save him. He brought him back to the ship and nursed him like an injured fucking animal. Like he… well, like he cares. Maybe he does.

Alfie makes a mental note of Tommy’s suspiciously proficient use of the first aid kit, but decides that right now is not the fucking time to discuss it. Right now, yeah, is a time for healing, innit? The cloth moves from his forehead as the merman gently runs it along Alfie’s neck and down his chest.

“It’s all right,” Alfie places his hand on top of Tommy’s to stop him, “I’ll wash up later.” His voice is gravelly and rough, and he suddenly feels very thirsty.

Trying to sit up in bed proves difficult, his limbs protesting with every move, pain from the bites turning from a mild annoyance to a real fucking problem now. Alfie takes Tommy’s hand in his.

“Tommy, sweetheart, would you be a dear and fetch me a glass of water from the tap? And the first aid kit too?”

Tommy nods and does as he’s told, urging Alfie to lay back down once he’s drunk the water and taken some pain medication. He then opens the window above the bed slightly, letting the cool evening air invade their small room. Along with the welcome reprieve from the hot and heavy atmosphere comes a distinct smell of blood.

Fuck.

The other fishermen. There were so many. Someone must have seen.

Fuck.

They’re in danger. Tommy, a fucking _merman_ , saved him. They’ll kill them both. Alfie tries to stand, to do _something_ , move the boat, grab weapons, _anything_. He can’t just sit here and wait for them to come. He needs to prepare, keep them safe.

Once again, Tommy’s strong hands push him back down, “no one will come back here for a while, eh? Not while the blood in the water is still fresh. There’s no hurry, Alfie.”

But they _will_ come. Eventually. Alfie finds it difficult to stay put so he huddles closer to Tommy for comfort. They eat dinner and he relaxes slightly, though there’s still a lot of nervous energy to him, making him restless in bed. When Tommy notices this, he runs a finger up Alfie’s thigh.

Alfie catches his eyes. It’s a question, a suggestion of closeness that is both fucking bizarre given the situation and entirely fucking reasonable at the same time. Alfie doesn’t flinch away from his touch when the hand moves higher.

The sex that follows is careful, intimate and allows for Alfie’s overactive mind to find something more pleasant to focus on. He falls asleep in Tommy’s arms again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're heading into fluff territory, you have been warned ;D accompanied by some light angst, as per usual.  
> Thanks for sticking with this story, I appreciate the kudos and comments :)


	8. Dust Unsettled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie has to make a difficult decision and face the past he's left buried since he was a child. His relationship with the merman develops further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update :D

Alfie wakes early in the morning. Alone.

Moving makes him wince, so he doesn’t hesitate when he notices the pain pills and glass of water by the bed, downing them immediately. It takes a while for him to feel okay enough to stand up and clean himself. He spends that time laying on his back, taking in his surroundings.

The air is heavy and warm. Light from the morning sun shines through the small window above him, illuminating the dust particles that sway with the ship. When he stands, the pills have taken effect and the pain in his limbs subsides. After changing his bandages, Alfie throws on a loose shirt and pants. No time to rest anymore, the boat needs to be moved.

He lifts the net from the water and empties yesterday’s meagre catch onto the ice with the rest of the fish. While he’s checking the trawler for any damage, Alfie thinks about what to do next.

There’s a high possibility that he’s been seen being rescued by Tommy. Even if the mermaids were very successful in their hunt, there’s bound to be at least one living witness. If Alfie went home now, the grieving town would swallow him up in its vengeance. He needs to wait until the wounds of left by this last attack heal, at least a little.

Maybe he could stay at sea with the trawler for a few days? The weather has been fucking rough though and he doesn’t want to risk getting caught in a storm so far offshore. The other option is… well it’s not fucking exciting either. His mother’s cabin.

Annie used to take care of it, but then she had the girls. Can’t risk going by the sea like that anymore, she’s got a family to think of. No one else really knows about it either. Remote, close, safe from any townsmen. Can’t really fucking say no, can he?

Still, he hesitates. He remembers the fireplace by the windows, the soft blankets and his mother’s smile. Alfie thinks about taking his chances with the weather at sea, but there are clouds lurking far away, fucking taunting him with their potential might, and it’s ultimately a much safer option to dock. The boat starts moving towards the shore.

It doesn’t take long for a familiar purple sheen to make itself known in the water. Alfie slows enough to let the merman on, continuing their journey once he hears a thud at the back. Silent steps and the sound of water hitting damp wood signal Tommy’s arrival through the door, his heavy breathing a sign of his struggle to catch up to the boat.

“Where are you going?”

“Can’t stay here,” Alfie doesn’t look back, “need to get the fuck away from there, don’t we? And there’s a storm coming. Weather’s not going to be good for a while. The boat needs to be docked.”

Water soaks through his shirt as he feels cold fingers gently grab at his shirt from behind. Tommy is close when he speaks, “it’s not safe. I can’t protect you there.”

“Yeah, well, can’t protect me here either if the boat sinks, right?”

Tommy presses closer, nosing at the back of Alfie’s neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“Don’t worry, love, I won’t dock at the town,” Alfie tries to soothe, “I… there’s a place. A safe place.”

Tommy sighs, letting go, “okay.”

When he moves to leave, Alfie can’t help but turn to stop him, “you can come with if you like. See it for yourself. Besides, I think we have some things to discuss, don’t we?”

Tommy’s face softens at the suggestion and he nods, placing a chaste kiss on Alfie’s lips.

“Think you can fetch your shirt, treacle?” Alfie offers innocently.

“Thought we were past that.”

“Not if you want me to look where we’re going.”

Tommy huffs, an icy glare pointed at Alfie, but ends up going below deck regardless, returning miffed and utterly adorable in that oversized nightshirt.

It seems to bother him most at the collar, he keeps pulling it away from his neck. Must be because of the gills, but the shirt never even comes close to touching them. It’s fucking distracting in an entirely different way than the nudity.

Eventually Alfie, genius that he is, gets an idea and pulls Tommy’s hands around his waist, so that the merman is hugging him from behind. It fucking works, of course, the merman stilling at his back in a tight hug and placing his head neatly into the crook of Alfie’s shoulder. Doesn’t fucking work for long, though.

He feels the cold spread across his back, but he doesn’t mind that part. It’s the even, relaxed breaths that graze his ear, making his skin prickle. Tommy seems to get an idea and there’s a subtle but purposeful shift in his stance. They’re still pressed close, but the merman pulls at the collar of Alfie’s shirt with his teeth, exposing his neck.

Tommy places his lips to the bare skin where Alfie can feel the rush of his own blood. Ah, a test. Submission? Trust? Is that what he wants? Alfie cranes his neck, allowing even more access, he’s not going to fucking flinch away this time.

Tommy bites down. There’s no real force behind it, not even enough to leave any marks, but it must be important to him that Alfie lets him do this, so he fucking does. It doesn’t hurt and Alfie stays still, one of his hands moving over Tommy’s at his waist. The merman pulls back his teeth, seemingly satisfied with Alfie’s reaction. He begins kissing the bitten spot of skin, then sucking gently.

Alfie resists the urge to chuckle. When’s the last time he’s gotten a fucking hickey? Once done with his endeavour to mark Alfie as _his_ , Tommy lays his head on the man’s shoulder. Alfie is not opposed to his lovers laying such physical claim on him, he is rather loyal when in a relationship, but… what about Tommy?

Is he looking into this too much? Maybe the bruise forming on his neck isn’t a claim. Maybe it’s just…. well maybe it’s just a fucking hickey. His thoughts are storming out of control, but he’s able to get a hold of himself relatively quickly for a change. Time to talk it out like adults. Hopefully it goes better than last time… Maybe he should stay quiet.

“So,” Alfie clears his throat, never being able to just shut the fuck up, “you’re not mad at me anymore, right?”

Tommy hums in reply.

“Good,” Alfie nods to himself. At least there’s that, “then I’ve got some, uh, questions.”

He takes a deep breath. There are a lot of things to ask. Alfie wonders about the _other_ man, about the first aid kit, about, well, Tommy’s fidelity in general. Does he fuck other mermaids? Something possessive flares up in him and even though he knows it’s unrealistic to expect commitment from a fucking merman, he still wants Tommy all to himself. Never been good at sharing.

“The other fucking bloke,” Alfie gestures with one hand off somewhere to his left, “you still… well… you still seeing him?” He keeps his gaze forward.

Tommy shifts lightly at his side, turning his head towards him, chin still resting on the larger man’s shoulder.

“Would that bother you?”

Alfie stays quiet. He doesn’t want to answer honestly, because it could lead to another fight, and truly he knows he has no right to demand Tommy be faithful, but he can’t lie either. He’s fucking shit at that.

“I’m not seeing him anymore.”

“Is it just me, then?”

Fuckin hell, Alfie, stop sounding so fucking insecure.

Tommy’s lips ghost the shell of his ear, “do you want it to be?”

Alfie’s composure is definitely waning now that most of his blood has gone south, but he tries anyways, “I would find that favourable to the alternative, yes.”

“Always so selfish, you people,” Tommy tuts at his side as he moves to the nape of Alfie’s neck, pressing a light peck there. His tone is playful, seductive, fucking _sinful_ in the best fucking ways and Alfie wonders what he would see were he to look into those blue wicked eyes right now.

Whether mockingly or seductively, Tommy mirrors Alfie’s careful way of speaking when he continues, placing pecks along his exposed neck in between words, his hands traveling across Alfie’s torso now.

“Currently,” a hand picks at a button, “I find it _favourable_ ,” it slips underneath, “to do whoever the fuck I want,” the other hand goes lower, “which lately,” the hand goes lower, still, “seems to be _you_ ,” Alfie closes his eyes, “ _and only you_.”

So much for no fucking distractions. Alfie slows the boat and turns to Tommy in order to give him the attention as is demanded by such devilish beauty. Blue eyes, dilated and full of want, stare at him in waiting. A gaze meant for Alfie and Alfie alone. He hums in appreciation as a pleasant warmth fills his body.

Half an hour shouldn’t hurt. They’d be at the cabin by evening, no fucking problem and the pain pills have definitely helped with the sting in his extremities. Fuck it, Alfie thinks, as he carries Tommy back down into the bedroom.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They arrive at the cottage a couple of hours later. Alfie docks the ship and they walk up the paved staircase. He found the key in his trawler where he had left it so many years ago, in the drawer by his bed. It feels heavy in his hand and he hesitates at the door.

Screams resonate from within the house, but they’re not real, not anymore. He won’t find his mother clawing at the floor in the bathroom. Won’t hear her muttering nonsense in the dark. Won’t find her sunken eyes staring at him, remarking how much like his father he looks.

“You okay?”

Alfie sighs as he nods, finally unlocking the door.

Everything’s smaller than he remembers. There’s dust from years of abandonment, but otherwise the cabin is tidy. Annie must have cleaned it, she’s the only one with a spare key.

Alfie’s mother hated tidy rooms. It was like the clutter made her feel at home. She’d say a room without a mess is a soulless room. She might have had a point. With the cabin in this state it feels like his mother’s soul was slowly erased with every blanket folded and every trinket put away.

It seems colder, lonelier. The shelves once filled with the gifts and trinket from his mother’s mermaid friends lay fucking empty, desolate. Properly fucking upsetting, is what it is. Alfie needs to rectify that immediately.

He places the crate he’s been carrying onto the stove and searches drawer after drawer until he finds the one with the stashed away gifts. Alfie picks up the items, placing them back where they belong as accurately as his memory will let him. Fuckin hell, doesn’t seem right does it? He fiddles with the arrangement, kicking up dust. That’s what makes his eyes water, right? No other explanation for that.

Fuck, he won’t get the arrangement right, but he can still try. Once back on full display, the trinkets help make him feel a little more at ease. Tommy’s been watching him curiously, Alfie knows that, but he doesn’t fucking care. This needed to be done.

Still, there’s an obvious question in Tommy’s raised brows.

“My mother’s,” Alfie points vaguely towards the shelves, “got these from mermaids, didn’t she? Can’t well fucking sit in a drawer. They… they belong right fucking there.”

It’s as much of an explanation he’s willing to offer and Tommy only nods.

“This was your mother’s home?”

“Mine too. For a while at least.”

Alfie moves towards the fireplace and lights it, “she used it to do research, make friends with mermaids and such,” he’s surprised to find the logs and kindling fully stocked, surely thanks to Annie, “she wasn’t always considered right in the head, my mother. Well, neither am I, to be honest. But something… broke? I don’t fucking know” he fiddles with the growing flame, “she fucking… started acting out or something and then… well one day she went into the water and didn’t come back.”

He realises he’s never really spoken to anyone about this, not even Annie. Alfie was asleep when it happened so no one really fucking knows where their mother went to, but she’d tried to drown herself several times before and it was just a safe fucking assumption that this time, yeah, this time she succeeded.

“I haven’t been here since,” he turns to Tommy, who’d nestled himself in the corner of the sofa facing the fireplace, naked _again_ , with his feet pulled up and shirt discarded on the floor. His eyes are soft and knowing and he puts his hand out, beckoning Alfie to join him. And he does.

It’s warmer now, but Alfie still pulls up a blanket to cover himself, what with an icy merman huddled at his side draining his heat and all. They’re facing large windows with direct view of the water. The weather has turned bleak and it’s about to rain. There’s static in the air.

Alfie and Tommy sit and talk about this and that. Mostly it’s just Alfie rambling about the intricacies of the cabin, but Tommy seems content enough to listen. It’s time for lunch, but neither of them wants to disturb this fragile peace. Alfie’s stroking Tommy’s hair absentmindedly when the merman stirs, head lifting from its place.

“You’re sure it’s safe here?” Tommy asks eyes alert and looking through the window.

“Yeah, no one comes here anymore. Should be good for a bit. ‘Till this blows over… as much as it can.”

“Good,” he hears in reply and Tommy leaves the sofa, moving towards the shore-side glass door.

“Oi, where are you going?”

“I’ve got some things to attend to,” Tommy says over his shoulder, focus somewhere else. He opens the door and strong winds carry the smell of sea and the chill of autumn through the small cottage, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He closes the door behind himself and walks into the sea. Alfie strides to the window and sees eyes and scales in the water greet Tommy on his way. He feels a tightness in his chest and wonders if it’s worry or abandonment. Maybe both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, incoming is a fluff fest, you have been thoroughly warned ;D  
> There will be some heavy angst in the later chapters, but we'll deal with that when we get there.  
> Hope you like where this is going :)  
> Thank you again for all the lovely kudos and comments :D


	9. Kind Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie wakes up alone in the cabin. Tommy's past is partially revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity, fluff, all that good stuff. Hope you like it ;D

Alfie tries to sleep. He really fucking does. The bed is just… _too fucking much_. He moves to the sofa. Shivers running down his spine from the cold turn into sweat dripping from his brow from uncomfortable heat.

Raindrops pitter patter on the roof and they are both too fucking loud and not loud enough. Silence, yeah, silence would be a fucking dream right about now. There’s no chance of other noises hiding in the soft hum of nothing, is there? But rain, soft, unrelenting and constant, well that just fucking manages to make him wonder. Wonder if he’ll hear the screams again. He almost does. Almost hears the sound of nails scraping against the ridges between tiles, cloaked in the sound of water hitting clay tiles.

Alfie covers his ears. Tells himself it’s only in his fucking head. Tries to think of better things. Tommy, his Tommy, somewhere out there, swimming happily and eating fish… or something. It helps a little. Eventually, it’s exhaustion that pulls him into a restless sleep.

\--

There’s faces and hair and blood. He’s pulled under and he can’t breathe. From the darkness, a new face stares at him. Sunken eyes. _You handsome boy, just like your father._ A voice echoes. Distant screams and scrapes. _Alfie please tell me you haven’t fucked him._ Another voice, another face. The screams and scrapes grow closer. _Your father never lifted a finger._ Another voice. _You’ll be different, boy._ More voices, more faces. The screams are deafening now and he feels the scrapes of sharp nails against his skin. His lungs burn and his neck stings, blood blurring out his vision.

\--

Alfie wakes with a start, his left hand reaching to protect his neck instinctively. With uneven breaths and blurred vision he struggles to make sense of his surroundings. Fucking shit, just a nightmare, he realises once he’s figured out where he is. Which is on the floor, half covered in a blanket, drenched in sweat and shivering from the cold.

Everything is lit in the blue hues of oncoming daylight. No sun yet, which means he didn’t get much sleep, but there’s no fucking way he’s trying _that_ again right now. Slowly, he rises from the ground, pain making him grimace, both old and new. His right side burns, but not nearly as much as his limbs do.

“Fuuck me,” he grunts to no one, taking a deep breath. He should shower or bathe and get a fire going, right? That would be the proper thing to do if he weren’t so fucking exhausted and weak. At the moment, though, standing is a bit of an effort and so Alfie sits down on the sofa. Just to give his body some time to start fucking working. He looks through the window. The weather’s improved significantly, so there’s that. No foreboding clouds or violent winds, huh.

Alfie rolls his shoulder and hears some cracking when arches his back. Maybe he can wait for Tommy. He could- Naah, not fucking helpless, is he? Can’t make Tommy his nurse. Besides, when, if ever, is Tommy even fucking coming back?

Now is not the time to sit and wait, Alfie decides. Lighting the fireplace might take twice as much as it did yesterday, but he fucking manages nonetheless, humming pleasantly as some of the warmth comes back into the room. He puts a kettle over the fire, deciding that a nice hot bath is in order.

While he waits for the water to heat up, Alfie takes off his bandages. Once nice and steaming, he pours the water into the bathtub, adjusting the temperature with cold water from the tap. There’s soap in a small cabinet, so he adds that. Smells citrus-y, a welcome change from the smell of salt and blood.

Getting into the tub requires some finesse, yeah, some careful manoeuvring and a couple of grunts for good measure, but it sure is fucking worth it with the warm water draining most of the tension and cold that seems to have seeped deep into Alfie’s bones. When he rubs some soap on his body it feels like he’s washing away more than just the sweat. Then he hears the glass door open.

“In here,” he shouts half-heartedly as he settles in the warm water.

The tell-tale drip of water on wooden floorboards creeps closer. Tommy stills just beyond the open door, visibly relieved at the sight of Alfie, though obviously confused, if that adorable crease between his eyebrows is anything to go by.

“It’s just a bath, sweetheart, just to warm my bones.”

Tommy sits down on the floor by the tub, arms leaning on its edge. He plants his head on them, eyeing the bubbles of the soap curiously.

Alfie notices bite marks on his shoulder when he smells the blood through the lemon scent of the soap. He lifts his hand from the water and ghosts his fingers over the wound, seemingly fresh but not really bleeding much anymore. The marks resemble his own wounds, though they will undoubtedly heal much quicker on the merman.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Tommy,” Alfie’s voice is chiding, but fond all the same.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can clearly see that, what with the fresh bite on that lovely skin of yours and all. Am sure that’s not a fucking issue.”

“It’s not,” Tommy shrugs, intent on pretending this is something fucking causal, right? But even Alfie knows mermaids don’t just bite each other. He fixes the merman with a loving stare.

“Just tell me, love.”

“Why?”

“Because, well… we’re a couple now, aren’t we? And couples share things, you know. How was your day? What did you eat?” Alfie gestures meaningfully, “why the fuck do you have a giant fucking bite mark? Things like that.”

Tommy eyes him suspiciously but Alfie’s face is pure innocence incarnate so he eventually relents, sagging a little where he sits.

“I was asked to stop seeing you. I said no. Some bitch got mad and I handled it,” he glances at Alfie.

“Are you in danger?”

“No… I don’t think so. Just not very popular at the moment.”

Alfie chuckles at that, “yeah, don’t I fucking know how you feel.”

Tommy’s hand drops into the water, swirling around bubbles as he lets Alfie card through his hair. It’s easy to fall into this comfort of domesticity with him and that surprises Alfie. He’d never have expected himself in a situation like this, but he’s glad he’s where he is right now. Worth all the biting in the fucking world.

They sit in the bathroom a while longer. When the water loses most of its heat, Alfie pulls the plug and rinses himself off. Tommy gives him some privacy, ridiculous as that notion is, the boy’s seen more of Alfie that pretty much anyone else in his life, and instead focuses on the soap he’d been using.

Pale fingers squeeze experimentally at the hard but brittle item, not at all fond of the texture or the residue the soap leaves on skin. Tommy leans in to sniff at the bar, but his sensitive nose seems to get more that it bargained for, eliciting the most adorable sneeze Alfie has ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“You sneeze like a kitten, love,” Alfie coos adoringly to which he receives an icy glare in response. Still, Alfie grins like an idiot as Tommy can’t fight the blush creeping up his neck. The merman sets down the soap and pads off to the sofa while Alfie wipes himself down with towels.

He moves past Tommy to his duffle bag and pulls out some clothing.

“Please don’t,” he hears from behind, “I prefer you without all those layers.”

Alfie, being the genius that he is, gets an idea.

“All right. Here’s what I was going to wear.”

He throws the items in question in front of the merman. A plain white shirt, grey wool socks, underwear, dark blue pants and a yellow sweater.

“Every item you put on, I don’t.”

A fun challenge for his merman that Tommy is bound to fail. And even if he does end up dressed and Alife has to prance around naked, he’ll at least have the pleasure of seeing Tommy in his clothing. A thought that most definitely pleases him.

Tommy seems to consider the pile in front of him, approaching it much like a cat would approach a strange new item, picking and prodding at the cloth. He doesn’t touch the pants or underwear and doesn’t seem to appreciate the coarse texture of the wool. The first thing he puts on is the shirt, of course, gravitating towards the only thing familiar.

There’s an obvious mental struggle happening as he grabs the sweater, but ultimately Tommy is defeated and he sets it aside. The wool socks seem an easier task, though he still scratches at his ankles and feet as he sets himself down next to the pile, content with his choice. He looks up expectantly.

Alfie’s heart warms at this sight. The shirt hung loosely at Tommy’s neck, the socks bunched up at the bottom and his lovely attempt at sitting still.

“Two items-,”

“Three,” Tommy interrupts, pointing once at the shirt and each sock individually.

“Three,” Alfie corrects himself, nodding thoughtfully, as he walks over to put on the rest, “I’m impressed.” He adds some logs to the fire, takes the first aid kit from the counter in the kitchen and sits down in front of Tommy, now wearing the underwear, pants and sweater.

The merman automatically reaches for the bandages and starts wrapping the other’s arms, thumb stroking over healing skin. So far none of the wounds look infected, which is a blessing, and the worst will probably heal into barely noticeable scars.

Alfie feels himself sink back into the edge of the sofa, still relaxed from the bath and further comforted by tender touches and the warmth of the fireplace. He lets his eyes fall closed as Tommy works. Despite the idealistic circumstances, Alfie still feels a nagging urge.

“Who taught you first aid?”

It’s an off-hand question, barely louder than a whisper and if he’s honest with himself, Alfie doesn’t really expect an answer. Tommy stays quiet and moves on to Alfie’s legs, meeting Alfie’s eyes when he cracks them open a bit.

“The _other_ man,” he answers quietly. Maybe he hopes Alfie didn’t hear.

When Alfie’s all done and bandaged, Tommy slips a hand under his sweater, running his fingers along his side, lingering on the scar. He settles neatly into the crook of Alfie’s left arm.

“So this _other_ man,” Alfie tries to sound casual, “could you tell me about him?”

“Do you really care?”

“Yeah, I do. But you don’t have to share if you don’t feel like it, love. It’s just a question.”

Tommy sighs and nods, pressing himself closer to him, hand stilling at the base of the other man’s scar, face half buried in his lover’s neck as he speaks.

“He was a server on a ship,” he begins and Alfie tugs a blanket from the sofa behind him to pull it over himself and his merman, “a passenger ship trespassing through our territory. It was called Haven, I think.”

Alfie remembers that ship and he adds: “Carried 137 people when it sank. No survivors.”

“There were survivors. They just didn’t come back here.”

They’re quiet for a while, before Tommy continues; “We didn’t sink it. The more sympathetic of us realised it posed no danger and we convinced the rest to leave it alone. In a way. I, along with some others, was sent to observe the ship. Sink it, if it acted suspiciously.”

“That’s when I noticed him. He was serving some posh folk on the deck. Caught my attention because I liked his eyes. Green and… and kind,” he lifts himself up to look at Alfie’s face, “like yours.”

“The ship was steered by idiots, apparently. They sank it themselves by running into reefs in shallow waters. The passengers panicked, grabbed rescue boats, but by then… there was blood in the water and they were fair game as far as my people were concerned. Didn’t even have to sing, the small wooden boats tipped over easily.”

Alfie can imagine the slaughter, smell the blood, hear the screams. The news spread quickly of the ship’s disappearance and after a month, all passengers had been declared dead. 137 people lost to the mermaids. There’s a lot less of those kinds of ships these days, a fewer tourists travel the sea.

“I managed to save the rescue boat with him on it,” Tommy’s thumb strokes the scar, “they were scared and some were wounded, but _he_ kept calm. He saw I wasn’t there to hurt them and he asked me to get a box with a red cross from another boat a little further away. And I did. I watched him bandage up a dying man and soothe the others with lies about rescue.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, “I helped them get to an island, it was as much as I could do in that moment without having serious problems at home, and left… but I came back… He taught me first aid, we talked a while and then… well he taught me other things as well.”

“They didn’t get rescued, though, right?” Alfie interjects, eager to move on from this part.

“No,” Tommy confirms, “not by your people at least, that much was evident by day three.”

The hand goes back to the scar, tracing its rim, “the dying man was gone within the first week and I was asked if I could take them to the closest port. He… he asked me to save him and I couldn’t say no. So I took them there in their small rescue boat on day 15. At least, I took them as close as I could without major trouble. He…” Tommy’s voice trails off and it sounds like this next bit hurts, “he said he would return. To the sea, to the island… to me.”

“But he didn’t,” Alfie finishes for him.

“But he didn’t.”

Alfie wonders what fucking lunatic could ever give up Tommy. He guesses the man had noticed Tommy’s interest and used it as a way to survive and while anger flares up at that thought, it’s hard to fault him for that. But Tommy, his Tommy, is utterly fucking precious and something to hold on to, not run away from. Should be fucking obvious to anyone with eyes, right? Apparently fucking not.

Alfie should be grateful though, that that bastard didn’t know to appreciate his merman, because he gets to have him all to himself now.

“He’s a fucking idiot, that one,” he says as he shuffles to stand, wanting to soothe Tommy and remove the tension lingering in the air, “want some tea? There’s bound to be something semi-ancient and possibly not fit for consumption in those cabinets somewhere.”

Tommy nods and smiles softly, getting a good scratch on his left leg in before he stands to follow Alfie into the kitchen area of the small cabin. The tea they find is borderline dust, but it still fucking works as far as Alfie’s concerned as he pours them both a cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So initially I had Freddie in mind as Tommy's Other Man, but I thought not giving him a name would be better maybe, that way he can be whoever you want him to be :P Hope this is something you enjoyed :)


	10. Soft Tattered Spines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse of Tommy's perception as he explores the cabin on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far we've been following Alfie's point of view.  
> Time for a switch in perspectives! (At least for the first part)

Tommy watches quietly as Alfie opens one cupboard after another. Once all of them are open, the man puts his hands on his hips and curses. It’s the type of behaviour that would usually make Tommy smile, but he knows the context of the situation too well. There’s no food in the cabin.

His eyes wander towards the small supply brought from the boat. It’s enough for another day or two, but then Alfie will have to go into their settlement and get more. Tommy doesn’t like the idea of that. He picks at his second fish reluctantly.

Although he’d like to eat more, there’s only so many fish he’s willing to take from Alfie’s crate. He can find his own food sometime later and he wants to prolong Alfie’s time at the cabin as much as possible. It’s nice to have him here, so close to the shore, so easily accessible. Safe.

Alfie sits back down and finishes his meal, grumbling about this and that, completely bypassing the topic of supplies. Tommy isn’t eager to address the issue himself, so he stays silent as the other man talks.

Alfie’s words are interrupted by increasingly frequent yawns and Tommy knows this means that he is tired, as much as he may deny it. He pulls him towards the bed that lay underneath decorated shelves in the corner of the small wooden cabin. Reluctantly, Alfie lets himself get manhandled under the covers.

It’s obvious he didn’t get much sleep last night by his sluggish behaviour. Tommy finds it odd that humans have managed to progress so far in their civilisation when it seems as if they sleep half of their lives away. But without enough sleep they just seem drained and lifeless. Docile, even.

Perhaps that’s why they sleep. To replenish the energy they expend being so defiant of their primal nature. He remembers Polly saying that they think too much. That they’ve lost touch with their instincts. Maybe she’s right.

Tommy manages to coax off some of those horrid items of clothing Alfie insists on wearing all the fucking time, namely that ungodly coarse sweater and those loose pants. They end up on the floor by the bed. Tommy might hide them later. Alfie can’t wear clothing if there is none to be found. The shirt and socks the merman had been wearing join them.

The itch on his legs has been unbearable for a while, but with the socks off now he is finally able to scratch at the sensitive skin. His ankles feel like they’re burning up, but before he can really do anything, Alfie’s hands stop him.

“You’ll hurt yourself, love,” Alfie always uses this overly careful voice with him when he says something he thinks Tommy won’t like and it’s pretty annoying. Tommy would tell him he’s not a fucking child and he can be spoken to normally, but he’s too stubborn. He stays quiet, looking back at Alfie who nods mostly to himself, “I’ll get you something for the itch. No scratching while I’m gone, eh?”

Tommy pouts at him, but still he obeys, patiently waiting for him to retrieve whatever it is he needs from the bathroom. There’s shuffling and the clink of glass bottles accompanying the man’s muffled mumbling. The words are too jumbled to discern and Alfie is soon back with a strange small jar filled with green paste.

Alfie sits at the edge of the mattress and beckons Tommy to set his legs on his lap. Tommy eyes him suspiciously, but complies anyways. The man proceeds to scoop some of the paste with his fingers and gently apply it to Tommy’s reddened skin. The smell is nicer than expected and the paste soothes his itch. He wonders what’s in it.

“Mint,” Alfie answers, seeing the obvious question on Tommy’s face, “my mother used to make these. Fucking great for itches. And toast, as it turns out.”

When he’s done, Alfie sets the jar aside and tries to stand, but Tommy quickly thwarts that plan and pulls him back down. Alfie is either too tired or amused to fight him and so he goes willingly where Tommy puts him, which is tucked firmly under the covers.

“Now sleep.”

“Well, I’m not tired, am I?” Alfie lies, eyelids heavy, his breathing deep.

Tommy hums and settles at his side above the covers, running his hand through the other man’s hair. Alfie closes his eyes and pulls him closer, squeezing his free hand, “now that just isn’t fair, is it? Too fucking cosy now, even mister fucking coffee himself would doze off, right?”

Tommy smiles and hums again, staying with Alfie as his breathing evens out and his grip goes slack. The merman lays there looking at his sleeping companion for a while, taking in the details of his lover’s face. Alfie looks younger this way, he thinks as he ghosts his fingers along the side of his face, tracing the wiry edges of his unkempt beard.

It tickles when they kiss, which the merman doesn’t find completely unappealing, but there are moments when he’s too sensitive and the hair scrapes at him all too roughly. He wonders if Alfie would shave for him and how his face would change without all that hair.

He huffs a silent laugh at that. Alfie stirs slightly at his side, but remains asleep. Tommy removes himself from the bed and moves towards the kitchen area. Since first coming here, he hasn’t really had time to take in the details of this place. It’s the first human made building he’s ever been in and it’s laden with curiosities. The counters are smooth to the touch, which he likes, and the splattered spotty pattern on them reminds him of certain rocks he sometimes finds. Tommy makes a mental note to bring one next time, Alfie would surely appreciate it.

The next thing he touches is the kettle, no longer warm from the fire. Maybe he’ll make some tea later. It’s weird, warm and almost unbearably sweet, but Alfie seems to like it. Tommy opens the cabinet with the _possibly not fit for consumption_ tea leaves and takes out some of the boxes. He glances over at his sleeping companion, making sure his movements are quiet.

Tommy holds back his curiosity to some degree when Alfie is awake. It would be a sign of weakness to show how unfamiliar these surroundings are to him, although he doubts Alfie would hold it against him. He’d probably just smile, make some comment about Tommy being _cute_ , which he is definitely _not_ , and move on. Still, it’s hard to fight his instincts. Maybe if he tried, he’d sleep as much as Alfie? Better to not tempt fate.

Now, however, he is safe in his solitude and able to gleefully explore on his own. He picks up the boxes and closely inspects the tea, feeling the dryness of herbs, the crumble of their structure and the sharpness of the leaves’ edges. When he goes to smell the tea from up close, its overwhelming scent threatens another sneeze, but Tommy manages to hold back. Why do all these things have to smell so strongly?

He remembers coming in this morning, Alfie’s scent lingering in the air of the cabin. When he found him in the ceramic tub, it was utterly covered by that horrible soap. Took some time before he smelled like himself again, the way Tommy prefers him. But he knows people bathe and clean themselves and wash off their scents every day. Why they do that is still a bit of a mystery, though. Maybe he’ll ask Alfie later.

Tommy moves over to a counter of dishes, but they clink loudly, as most things in this part of the cabin tend to do. He decides that even with how bad human hearing is the noise would eventually wake Alfie from his fragile slumber, so he moves on to softer spaces.

There are bookshelves lining the wall next to the bathroom door, stacked with old worn books. The merman picks out a hardcover book in beige with gold imprints. It’s tattered and practically falling apart. He tries to make out the title. It’s been a while since he studied the human alphabet, their letters both needlessly unique and annoyingly similar at the same time. He can make out the word “Mermaid” but can’t quite string together the other word.

It’s odd to flip through a book about his own species, written from the perspective of another. He examines the sketches, tries to struggle his way through a few paragraphs and soon finds it an interesting, if difficult, read. Makes him feel like he can see things from a different point of view.

At this point he’s made out the word “behaviour” in the title. The book itself describes mostly the ways in which mermaids differ from people and informs him of the things people find odd about their ways. He’s annoyed when the book speaks of their culture as _sophisticated against expectations_ and even snorts when he reads: _Despite their savage attacks, mermaids have a strong code of ethics that they adhere to. Why this code rarely applies to other living beings is, however, still a mystery._

A mystery? Really? Humans have shown nothing but aggression towards his species since they’ve learned how to make boats. How can it be surprising that most mermaids are being taught that they are nothing more than monsters intent on hunting the seas dry? There’s more to them, that much Tommy knows now, but he too once believed they were savage beasts.

Would humans treat sharks with kindness and respect? Would they have a code of honour if those beings went into their villages and stole their food?

_Beware the ape with the spear._

Always a cautionary tale to young mermaids and mermen. Stay the fuck away from them.

But Tommy was curious.

He remembers that day at the pier, all those years ago. He’d come to observe, young and naïve and careless. He was immediately spotted and soon, a throng of apes stood at the docks, yelling at him. He was frozen with fear. _Apes with spears._ They pulled a rope and he saw an engine coming closer, but he couldn’t move, he was too scared. That’s when Alfie jumped in.

Tommy closes the book and turns towards the sleeping man in question. He threw himself into the water and got hurt, just to save Tommy. _You needed help._ That’s what he said. They weren’t apes, he knew then, at least not all of them.

The book is laid back in its rightful place and the merman returns to the bed where he sees Alfie move. The man seems to be dreaming, a nightmare, most likely. Tommy’s had them too. The day at the pier had haunted him for months, even if the blood in the water wasn’t his.

He carefully lays down next to Alfie and begins rubbing soothing circles at the nape of the other man’s neck. It seems to help settle him. Tommy stays there for a moment longer until his stomach makes a pleading sound and he remembers his hunger. He places a gentle kiss on Alfie’s temple, breathing in his comfy scent, and quietly leaves the cabin, reminding himself to go get that rock.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Alfie wakes from what was a surprisingly deep and dreamless sleep, he does so alone.

Again.

At least that’s what he thinks until he hears the soft clinks from the kitchen. Forcing his blurry vision to just fucking focus for a second allows him to spot Tommy carefully moving among the counters.

Quite a fucking sight, it is, seeing his naked merman attempting to replicate the seemingly intricate process which is preparing tea. He can see the gears turning in his head, the subtle nods of his face giving away his counting as he’s pouring the boiled water. Of course he wouldn’t know which parts of the process are important, seems like he’s just trying to replicate all of it exactly as observed. Alfie had no idea Tommy had been so attentive when he made the tea for them.

A drop of water falls from Tommy’s wet hair into the teapot and he frowns. Must have been in the water again.

Yeah, the merman was definitely in the fucking water again, if the wet splotches on the old wooden floor are anything to go by. Alfie sits up, eyeing the pink light from the sunset reflected in the puddles. It’s pretty, but it’ll definitely damage the wood.

“Sleep alright?” Tommy asks and Alfie grunts in affirmation. He did sleep surprisingly well, though now that he is attempting to move, he can feel his scar giving him some trouble and there’s stinging pain from where he slept on his right arm. Stretching helps a bit and he pads over to Tommy, pressing himself close to the merman from behind.

Tommy is wet and ice cold to the touch, which Alfie keeps forgetting to anticipate, but he’s too stubborn to pull away, placing a peck on Tommy’s cheek as a shiver threatens to wrack his frame. No new bites on the merman’s body. A good sign, he supposes.

Alfie can feel Tommy smile as he nuzzles the back of his head, right where short hair meets the longer curling strands. Do mermaids cut their hair like people do? Can’t be easy, in the salty water and all. Maybe he should ask some time.

“You know,” he starts, voice gruff, “I’ve been thinking,” he places his head on Tommy’s shoulder, “this whole, you walking in wet and naked, yeah, which is not a bother to me, personally, at all, right,” he nudges the merman slightly with proof of that, a growing interest pulling away the few drops of blood keeping him conscious from his brain, “well it’s not that good for the floor, sweetheart.”

Tommy huffs.

“Now I’m not saying you have to dry yourself off completely when you get here. But maybe if I lay out a towel you might, if your heart so desires, right, step on it for a second or two so that I don’t have to change the floorboards every month?”

He leans in to face Tommy, his look of pure innocence and well-meaning plea contrasting the mild glare through wet lashes, but his merman quickly relents and the glare softens into barely a stare with a reluctant nod. Tommy receives a grin and placating kiss as reward.

“I got you something,” the merman says as he leans into Alfie’s touch, then points his chin to the right. On the counter sits a small rock, grey with black and dark grey spots. It’s similar to the surface of the counter it’s on.

Tommy has now decided that the tea is made and is pouring it into two cups, carefully counting again and paying close attention to the tilt of the kettle, Alfie seemingly forgotten at his back, which gives him the opportunity to step aside and pick up the rock unscrutinised. Alfie smiles and takes it to the shelf with the other items.

He seems to fiddle with the placement for a while, noticing Tommy’s hidden glances, then leaves it next to a turquoise stone at the far left of the shelf.

“A nice addition, isn’t it?” Alfie triumphantly declares, hands at his side and still not fully facing his merman. Tommy comes to inspect the placement and seems to deem it appropriate with a satisfied hum, blue eyes gently combing over the acquired menagerie of trinkets.

Alfie pulls Tommy close and places another kiss on the merman’s cheek. The merman moves willingly, pliant to Alfie in ways that make him feel as if he’s never been close to anyone before him. Not really. Not like this.

“Thank you, love,” he whispers into Tommy’s hair as they gaze at the shelf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts ;D?  
> I personally love to drown in fluff and there is more to come, don't you worry ;D


	11. Dry land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The food supply is running scarce. Alfie has to go to town.

It’s day six of their quiet existence in the dusty old cabin when Alfie pushes away a half-eaten plate of the same fish he’s had for days. He could barely stomach the first couple bites and it is entirely fucking clear to him now, right, that he might, in fact, never be able to enjoy eating ever again. A fucking shame innit, because Alife sure does fucking like eating. And it _is_ necessary, right, to eat, as unappealing as that sounds right now.

He’s no picky eater, but fucking hell he _yearns_ for a bell pepper or fucking anything that isn’t the same fucking salty fish meat staring at him, mocking him with its bland existence.

Tommy perks up at the movement, question clear on his face. Boy probably thinks Alfie’s trying to eat sparingly, right? Even though there’s no need, as Tommy’d brought a net full of fish last night. Could last them a while, couldn’t it, if Alfie weren’t one bite away from a violent vomit.

“Is something wrong?” Tommy’s voice is earnest in its inquiry.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be honest, I’d rather swear off eating altogether than take another fucking bite of fish today. In fact,” Alfie gestures meaningfully, “I’d be content, nay, fucking ecstatic if I never had to eat fish again in my entire fucking life ever again.”

“Why?”

Right. Mermaids aren’t really known for their diverse diet, are they? Humans, fish…. kelp? Maybe a clam or two, but their needs are definitely simpler. Tommy did turn his nose at the few green items, namely cucumbers, Alfie ate when his supply was still something other than fish.

“Well, our kind, we eat differently, right? Got all sorts of different things our bodies don’t produce. So, as a human, I need to diversify my food in order to… function properly. Not to mention, yeah, that eating the same food over and fucking over again is properly torturous, mate.”

Tommy doesn’t seem to fully understand, but he nods regardless, looking off towards the windows.

“You’ll be leaving today.”

Not a question, but Alfie still grunts and nods, following the other’s gaze into the distance. Warm calloused hands reach over cold smooth skin as Alfie strokes his thumb over Tommy’s forearm.

“I’ll be alright, yeah? I’ll be there and back again before you know it.”

Tommy nods solemnly and they sit like that for a moment before the merman rounds the table and sits down on Alfie’s lap, hugging him tightly.

“Alright, just… be careful,” Tommy mumbles into the crook of Alfie’s neck.

“Of course.”

They stay like that of a moment longer before the merman stands and Alfie prepares for his departure. Tommy stays in the edges of his vision, hovering, fiddling nervously with the hem of the nightshirt he is wearing as Alfie empties and dusts off an old cart his family used for supply runs in the old days.

Though his wounds are healing well, the ever-present sting whenever he moves his limbs reminds him to add medical supplies to the list of things that needs buying. With the cart ready to go, Alfie sighs and starts looking for some clean clothing.

He’d been wearing the yellow wool sweater and his comfortable pants for the better part of the last few days. That’s when he wasn’t naked, of course. When he puts on the shirt and buttons up his vest it feels… odd. As if he’s lying somehow. Nevertheless, he can’t afford to stand out and so he dresses in regular clothing under the watchful gaze of his merman.

The sweater and pants end up in his hands and he goes to put them into the laundry bin when a cold hand on his forearm stops him. Without a word, Tommy simply takes the sweater and holds it close. Like he weren’t even aware of it. Like it were instinct.

Alfie looks at him with raised eyebrows and Tommy looks almost just as surprised as he does. Like a fucking kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar.

“You’ll be gone a while,” Tommy simply says and puts the sweater down neatly by the foot of the bed. Alfie smiles fondly, dropping the pants in the laundry bin. After he’s well dressed and ready to go, he gives Tommy one last quick kiss goodbye, promises to be safe and then he’s out of the door and onto the gravelly road.

It’s a 20 minute walk to town on an unpaved path with nothing but the smell of the sea, the sound of leaves in the wind and the rattling of his old wooden cart accompanying him along the way. Alfie makes sure the bandages are hidden below his sleeves and the bruise on his neck beneath his collar. He needs to blend in as much as possible, but he doubts his sudden appearance will go unnoticed.

The town is bustling on this late morning and the big crowd on the marked allows Alfie to hide in plain sight from any fishermen who might recognise him. He buys vegetables, meat, potatoes, some medicine (mostly bandages) and even an amethyst necklace, because he is a sentimental man and it reminds him of Tommy and he can buy whatever the fuck he wants.

He eyes some odd smelling tea leaves when he feels a slap on his shoulder.

“Good lord, Alfie!” the hand lingers and gives a friendly shake, “you’re alive!”

Alfie turns his head to see the familiar face of a smiling Ollie gawking at him. Before he can say anything, he is pulled into an awkward hug, which he promptly ends with a couple of pats on the other man’s shoulder.

“’Course I’m alive. Takes a lot to kill me, don’t it?” he tries to sound normal and smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’d rather not be recognised so fucking loudly by what is probably the only friendly face within earshot, right? Ollie only laughs.

“Well after that hunt a couple of days and you not coming back we thought you might not have made it.”

Ollie gives Alfie a friendly slap and moves a little closer to say: “been a lot of rumours about what happened, really. But you’re okay, that’s all that matters!”

“What rumours?”

“They say all kinds of silly things, you know how sailors get when they’re scared, not in their right mind and all,” Ollie starts moving back to his own stand and Alfie follows him, listening closely, “some kid said he saw three Singers. Another claimed four of them, ridiculous stuff like that,” he coughs nervously, “there was one kid who, well, his first time out on sea, he’s young, I’m sure he’s just making it up for attention, but others latched on, because well, they don’t really like your mother, so naturally it would be true to them-,”

“Ollie,” Alfie pins him with a serious stare, “out with it.”

“They say you got saved by a Singer,” Ollie huffs, exaggerating his gestures to show the ridiculousness of this idea, “a pretty one, they say. But aren’t they all supposed to be pretty? Haha, anyways, ridiculous, all of that.”

Alfie nods. So there was a fucking witness. Not surprising. And his reputation helped validate their claim, of course. Gill sympathisers do not get the benefit of doubt. Won’t be returning to his apartment today, then. Too risky. In fact, he’s got most of what he needs, so he should just finish up and go back to the cabin, hoping he doesn’t get spotted by too many unfriendly faces.

“Ollie, I have to go now,” he says, “tell my cousin I’m okay.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he continues on. He’s more paranoid now. Eyes seem to glance at him more frequently now and the hushed whispers grow louder as he moves.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cabin stands still at the shore, trawler rocking idly in the mellow waves. Inside, Tommy moves from one corner to the other, examining every nook and cranny of the wonderous building. It’s something to do while he waits for Alfie to return. Something to keep his overactive mind occupied.

He thinks about heading home for a bit, but he’d rather not deal with his kind at the moment. It’s a tedious affair when most of your people think you’re courting a lower life form.

Everything is old and used which carries a certain charm. The life between these walls has left its mark on it, moulding the space into a slightly different variation of itself, each change a sign of something living having made it.

There are scrapes on the wooden cutting boards from knives, fragments missing from ceramic plates, bumps at the sides of furniture and creaks resonating from the most worn floorboards. The blankets fringe at their ends and the cushions frazzle at their most worn spaces.

As he’s prowling through the empty rooms of the cabin, Tommy notices something peculiar on the edge of the wall facing the kitchen area. There are markings, small and barely noticeable from afar, but he’s standing close now. He sees lines at various heights along the edge, next to each there are scribblings. It takes him a while but he is able to discern the word “Alfie” written several times, each word along a line carved into the wood. An oddity he’ll have to fold away in his mind for now and ask about later.

Tommy doesn’t like the texture of wood when he runs his fingers over the wall panelling. A splinter gets stuck in his index finger and he curses, sitting himself squarely on the floor to pick at it with his teeth. When he manages to dispose of it, a small droplet of blood stains the shirt he’s wearing.

A frown settles on his face. He’d kept the clothing item on because it smelled like Alfie, but his scent began to wane and the blood now overtakes it entirely. The sullied shirt is promptly removed and the merman tentatively approaches the yellow sweater sitting by the bed where he had left it not an hour ago.

Its smell is as intoxicating as its fabric is coarse. As if someone had bottled Alfie and sprayed it with him. His pale hand reaches for the rough fabric and the dilemma settles firmly in his mind.

Coarse and itchy, but homely. The warmth of a safe and familiar scent, but the cut of tiny wires against sensitive skin. Tiny wires like… like Alfie’s beard. Something Tommy honestly doesn’t mind on his skin at all anymore. Alright then, the sweater is going on.

The garment fits loosely on Tommy’s frame, much like the shirts he’d been given and the sleeves are too long, but the smell is strong and he immediately feels safe. Tommy lays on the bed and curls into a ball, nose buried in the yellow wool collar.

It’s odd to feel so safe out of water, but he’s felt weirder things before. Things with Alfie have been strange and new and exciting and Tommy wishes he could make _them_ see… Ada had been sympathetic enough, but Polly, Esme, Arthur…. He’ll get through to them. Tommy knows they only mean good… even Linda. His hands ghost the edges of her bite. But he’ll make them see.

Blue eyes stare towards the door, patiently awaiting Alfie’s return.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His heart is still racing, even though he’s long out of town. Though he is sure no one followed him, his gaze keeps slipping in all directions and his head turns at every snap of a branch. It’s only when Alfie the cabin peaks into his vision around the corner of the rocky path that his buzzing mind stills a little.

He’s bought enough food for a week, filling the small crate to the brim, and the hopes none of the other villagers dare come after him, even if he was spotted in town. When he enters the cabin, he stops, all tension leaving his body and being replaced by that familiar warmth he tends to feel around his merman.

Tommy is fast asleep on the bed, curled into an adorable little ball of pale skin and yellow wool, collar pulled over his nose. It always feels intimate, seeing him asleep like this. A privilege not awarded to anyone but him, which makes it impossible not to grin like the lovesick fucking idiot that he is.

Alfie tries to keep his movements quiet as he deposits the cart in a corner, puts the meat and vegetables on ice and shuffles out of his outer layers. His figure casts a shadow on the sleeping beauty as he carefully lays on the bed.

The shift of the mattress makes the merman stir and he drowsily opens his eyes to see Alfie’s wide grin huddled close. Tommy makes a startled noise, muffled by the wool but quickly recovers, crinkles in his eyes giving away the smile beneath the fabric. A hand quickly wrangles itself from the woollen heap and Alfie feels a cold and gentle stroke of Tommy’s thumb on his cheek.

“Hello treacle,” Alfie whispers, “I’m home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear it in the comments :)


	12. Footsteps on gravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Alfie's paradise is disturbed by an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early update :) Hope you like it :)

Days blend together in the small cabin by the sea. It feels like a separate world. Quiet, peaceful. Warm light from the fire fills the wooden walls as the outside seems to become increasingly colder and more hostile. Alfie doesn’t leave his small safe space much.

Tommy makes it a point to lay in bed every night while Alfie falls asleep in his arms. That way he can soothe any potential nightmares nightmares. He then disappears into the sea and returns sometime after lunch the next day, begrudgingly wiping himself with the towel Alfie leaves out for him by the glass doors.

Afternoons are spent on the couches by the fireplace, reading or talking. Sometimes they speak to each other not with words, but soft touches and gentle looks. Alfie tells Tommy about the cabin, his family and other things that might come to mind. Tommy himself doesn’t share much, content with listening to Alfie’s often strange musings.

He’s always within arm’s reach Alfie notices, his little mermaid. Responds well to small acts of affection, too. Tommy wouldn’t fucking admit it if you threatened to gut him on the spot, right, but he fucking adores hugs, revels in little pecks here and there and absolutely loves it when Alfie nuzzles the back of his hair. Always leaning in instead of away, right? That’s what gives him away. That and the fact that he always pouts if Alfie does dare step a little too far away.

Tommy likes the necklace Alfie bought for him. The amethyst is a little too purple to really match his scales, but Tommy doesn’t seem to mind. It’s worn as a bracelet, of course, can’t have anything near his gills, can he? Would probably feel like a loose chain dangling by your nose or something.

He does wear the sweater sometimes, though he seems to change his mind on the fabric from day to day. One day, he’ll be buried in the soft yellow wool for hours and another he will cast it into the corner and spare it a glare or two when he passes it. Alfie swears he’s heard him hiss at it but Tommy vehemently denies that ever happened.

Other clothing articles seem to _mysteriously_ disappear. Alfie notices this a couple days into their stay at the cabin when one of the many nooks and crannies Tommy hides them in began overflowing with socks and shirts. Alfie definitely didn’t put three pairs of pants beneath that cushion, but he doesn’t comment on the missing items.

While Alfie is perfectly aware of his physical state, that being, well, not a particularly attractive person, given the scars and general lack of personal grooming or exercise, he does not have the heart to deny his merman. For some reason, Tommy wants him naked. Most days, he manages wearing only underwear and sometimes slacks.

It’s only when the outside chill, the one that doesn’t seem to fucking stay the fuck outside, is making him shiver, only then does he dare to ask where he might find a sweater in the cracks between the furniture.

Before he can manage a word, his merman pulls a badly hidden pale peach coloured sweater from between two cushions of a loveseat next to the glass door and offers it to him, waiting for Alfie to take it before disappearing into the bathroom and reappearing with two mismatched thick wool socks.

Alfie can’t help but smile. Adorable, is what he is, his little merman. Tommy gets pulled into another tight hug after Alfie is well dressed and they settle down by the fire. This time they’re a little closer to the flame, sitting on the floor leaning against the couch.

Tommy makes sure to add some blankets to the pile already on top of Alfie before huddling close himself. Stays above the fabric that separates them too, so as to not drain his heat any further.

“You still cold?”

“I’m fine, pearl,” Alfie answers earnestly, relaxing in the comfort of his soft surroundings, pulling Tommy a little closer. They sit like this in silence for a while, warmth seeping into Alfie from the fire and Tommy’s body becoming lukewarm under his touch.

Feels like paradise, doesn’t it? Alfie’s own personal haven. He doesn’t have to think about the outside world in this little fucking cabin here. Sure, it comes with its own little demons, like his mother’s ghost haunting him with repressed memories, but that’s easy to set aside when Tommy’s around. He can just lock her ghost out along with the other problems they’re both pretending don’t exist. No space for that here.

It’s like the domestic life Alfie was always supposed to live. Well, if you ignore the finer details that is, and Alfie has no fucking issue ignoring them. It’s been a while since he’s been this warm and sated and… fucking happy, right? He’s allowed a little self-indulgence.

Yes, he fucking is.

It’s getting proper warm underneath the covers and he begins drifting off to the rhythm of Tommy’s soft breaths beneath his chin. That is until Tommy’s head shifts suddenly, and the merman goes stiff at his side.

“Someone’s here,” he whispers, propping himself up over Alfie, “there’s footsteps approaching. Not one of mine.”

A human then. Not fucking good. Alfie bolts upright from underneath the covers and moves towards the front door, peering through the window by its side. Fucking hell, who could it be? If it’s someone from town they’re in deep shit. Tommy could… no, that would be wrong. No fucking singing.

Alfie barely gets to shake the idea from his mind before he spots the figure approaching the cabin in the distance.

“Annie?” he mumbles mostly to himself, turning to answer Tommy’s quizzical look, “my cousin.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Well, the obvious answer should be _yes_ , but Alfie’s not that fucking sure about that right now. Their last conversation ended disastrously, to say the fucking least, and he’d been avoiding her ever since. Not that there was much to avoid, mind you, since she seemed just as content to ignore his existence as he was ignoring hers. But now she’s here.

And so is Tommy. Fuck. What now? Should he tell Tommy to leave? Should he hide him? Is there any fucking point in that? He won’t lie to her. She’s kept things to herself so far and he’s a terrible fucking liar anyways.

Maybe it’s not the _most_ opportune time to introduce her to Tommy, but what other options are there, really?

Alfie tries to straighten himself out a little while he thinks. Not much help for him, he doesn’t have the time to change. Sweater, mismatched socks, at least he’s wearing clothing. Which is not something you could say about Tommy. Alfie chucks the nearest shirt towards him.

“Put this on,” he says to the glaring merman, “please.”

Tommy sighs, gaze softening, and pulls the dreaded cotton over his head just as there’s a knock on the door.

Alfie takes a deep breath. Oh boy.

He opens the door.

“Annie! What a lovely surp-,”

The swift slaps stops him mid-sentence, but there’s no time to process the pain before her firm hands are hugging him tightly around his neck. Right, conflicting feelings, nothing new. He’s about to return the hug when she pulls away abruptly, eyes locked in terror at something behind him. That would probably be Tommy.

Annie seems wrought with all kinds of emotions. He knows her well enough to tell. Worry, anger, relief. One most present at the moment would be fear, though. She does her best to keep her composure, defiantly staring past Alfie.

Alfie knows too well the things mermaids are capable of. The scary thing for him is how easily he forgets that around Tommy. He turns to see him glaring back at her, blue eyes cold and threatening, probably not very happy with the slap Alfie’d received.

“I’m alright, love. Just a little tap. No harm done.”

Tommy seems to calm down a little, looking away and crossing his arms. The orange glow of the fire makes him look younger and the oversized clothing does nothing to rectify that. Almost like a petulant child, he is. Alfie turns back to his cousin.

“What the hell Alfie?” she sounds incredulous, “you disappear after an attack, we all think you’re dead, except for the few who _apparently_ saw your _fish-boy_ here save you” she nods at the merman, who does not seem to appreciate that comment at fucking all, “and I don’t believe that, of course, do I? My dear cousin? He’d come home. He’d tell me he’s not dead in the _fucking_ water _._ I’m a bumbling fool who’s in mourning, wracked with _fucking_ grief and here you are,” angry hands gesture furiously around them, “fucking and frolicking.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s fucking right, but it’s not enough to admit that, is it now? There’s some silence as Annie tries to calm her breathing before she continues, “and then I find out from Ollie that “ _you’re okay”_ and have to look around the whole fucking town to try and find you, but you’re nowhere to be found.”

The cold invades the cabin through the open door where she’s standing, carried in by the wind. Alfie wants to ask her to step in, but he’s not sure it’s wise to speak right now. He stifles a shiver.

Her face goes softer for a moment, concerned almost, “I didn’t think I’d find you here. I thought Ollie might have spoken to a ghost.”

His hand is still on the door handle and he focuses on that, because he can’t fucking face his cousin’s scrutinising gaze. In his periphery Tommy is clenching his jaw and gripping his arms tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the door, then looks towards his cousin, “please, come in and we can talk.”

Unsure feet step hesitantly into the cabin and Alfie closes the door. The cold stays nestled inside. It’ll take a while for it to warm up again.

“I want _that_ to leave,” she points at Tommy, but turns pale when predatory eyes bore into her and the merman takes a step closer. Alfie puts out an arm towards him, a warning for him to stay down. This can’t turn into bloodshed.

“Please.”

He’s not sure who he’s pleading to or for what, just that either of them calms down, takes the higher road, anything. There’s a moment of silence as Tommy and Annie stare each other down with Alfie between them, his gaze set steadfastly at that one fucking spot on the floor. Interesting little spot. No need to look elsewhere right now, that spot will fucking do just fine.

The merman is the first to move, this time away from them, towards the glass door. He leaves without a word.

Alfie feels a tightness watching him descend into the water after carelessly discarding his shirt on the shore. There’s a part of him that urges him towards the waves, to follow, to soothe. Bring back some of that warmth and paradise they had not 10 minutes ago. But he can’t. Not right now, at least.

Annie seems to relax a little now that the merman is gone. She hangs her coat on the wall and goes to sit on the couch by the fireplace, ignoring the scattered blankets and pillows along the way. Alfie follows and sits a respectful distance away.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I should have let you know I was okay sooner.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“But I’m alright, okay?” Alfie sits a little closer, placing a tentative hand over hers. The stretch of this movement causes the sleeve of his sweater to ride up, exposing the scarred and still healing wounds on his arms. Annie takes hold of his hand before he can hide it, pushing the sleeve further up and examining the wounds.

“He did this to you.”

“No, this was… others. That day,” he pulls back his arm, covering it with the sleeve now pulled down to the palm of his hand, “the attack. Wasn’t wearing earplugs and got caught in a melody. Tommy saved me.”

“Tommy. The merman.”

“Yeah. Tommy. He’s, uh, actually very lovely.”

Annie snorts at that and it makes Alfie look at her, seeing her face lined with what can only be described as a desolate smile.

“This is bizarre. Oh, so he’s lovely, is he? Well then it’s all okay. Doesn’t really matter that he _eats people_. Oh, Alfie, love, you sure are something, aren’t you? How long before he decides you’re no longer an interesting fuck and all I come to find of you is your fucking bones?”

“We’ve been over this. He won’t eat me, we’re close.”

“Alfie, he didn’t suddenly stop being a cannibal because you’re lovers-,”

“It’s not cannibalism.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t matter-,”

“No, no, please. Tell me. How is it not cannibalism again?”

Alfie sighs, “well, they don’t eat each other, do they? They just eat humans.”

“Because they think we’re cattle.”

“No, I believe it’s _apes with spears_ ,” that elicits another snort from Annie, “and how have we shown them otherwise? All we do is fucking chuck our javelins at them, steal their food and yell.”

“Oh, those poor things. I’m sure it must be hard for them,” Annie mocks.

This conversation is going nowhere. Alfie pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. How can he make her see?

“Listen,” his voice is as tired as he is, “it doesn’t matter what mermaids are like. Tommy is special. To me, at least. He’s kind, caring and he makes me happy. Brings me little trinkets, talks to me and saves my fucking ass even after I’m a complete idiot about well… fucking everything. He pulled me from that fucking water and bandaged me right up. I didn’t think it would be like this either, but I care about him, Annie, and I want him in my life,” he nudges his cousin with his knee, “and I’d like to keep you in my life as well.”

Silence stretches on between them for what seems like a lifetime.

There’s a deep breath and a sigh as Annie takes one of his hands in her own, “I won’t abandon you Alfie… and while I don’t… understand how you feel, I believe you. That he’s different, yeah?” she squeezes his hand gently, “but if he hurts you, I’ll chase him down with a javelin myself, alright? Popped eardrums and all.”

He smiles at that and she moves closer to hug him.

“I’m sorry about before,” she speaks into his shoulder, “I was scared.”

“It’s alright. I’ll speak to him… It’ll be fine,” Alfie hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploads might slow down a bit.  
> I have some of the rest written, but not all of it and I've been swamped with work (plus it's gonna be a depressing christmas soon, so there's that). I'll try to keep the weekly schedule, but I might not be able to.  
> I'm thinking in the end it will be 15 chapters altogether (not counting the first one, since it's just pictures).


	13. Pretty Dead Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie and Alfie talk. Tommy returns.

Alfie takes a deep breath and exhales. Just like the water after a heavy storm, the mood in the cabin has gone calm. No use in lingering on the lightning strikes. Best to just move on. He clasps his hands together, “would you like some tea?”

Annie smiles and nods, chucking another log into the fire, “chamomile, if you’ve got it.”

“Of course I do.”

The kettle is filled with water and placed over the fire. Alfie turns to retrieve two cups form the kitchen when he notices his cousin folding a blanket she’d picked up from the floor. She places it neatly on the edge of the couch, then bends down to pick up another. It bothers him way more than it should.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up,” she says absentmindedly, as if it were a mere reflex, “you live in a pigsty.”

“No, I don’t,” Alfie pouts, but doesn’t tell her to stop, instead reaching for clean cups from the cabinet, “it’s just blankets here and there.”

Even with his back turned to her, he can imagine her right now very clearly: half bent over with another blanket in her hands, eyebrows lifted, eyes set on him. A visage that clearly says _yeah, right_.

“Blankets,” she begins, “and shirts, and sweaters, and so, so many socks? Oh, and let’s not forget that convenient pillow over there, on the floor, next to the ice box.”

He turns to the pillow. Oh yeah. He was putting something into the ice box when Tommy had… distracted him for the third time that day. It was a bit much though and his legs gave in under him, so he just laid there for a bit and his merman brought him a pillow. Kept him company on the floor too.

“It’s there for a reason.”

“Is that reason a tripping hazard?” she chides back, but it’s playful. Reminds him of when they were kids and she’d have this compulsion to keep things beyond pristine. He’d sometimes leave a mess just to tease her. No doubt she still cleans at home, even with all those fucking maids. Must drive her husband up the wall. But Alfie understands. It helps her process things, so he doesn’t bother her about it too much.

When the tea is made, he carries it over to the counter with the highchairs and beckons his cousin over. He leans on the cold marble and looks out the glass window. Still no sign of Tommy. He didn’t say how long he’d be gone. A piece of white fabric on the rocks catches his eye.

“I’ll be right back.”

Annie sits down next to him, follows his gaze and nods. Alfie steps through the glass doors and goes down the gravelly path to the rocks. He picks up the shirt and thinks about calling out to Tommy, but... Maybe it’s better he stays away, at least until Annie leaves.

As he steps back into the cabin she turns to him, eyeing the shirt in his hands, “you know I’ve never seen one wear clothing before. How’d you do that?”

“With my big green puppy eyes,” he chuckles and leans into the bathroom to throw the shirt in the sink. Annie smiles and takes a sip of her tea. When he joins her, she offers, “no pants though.”

“Or a dress,” she playfully adds. Alfie makes a mental note of that. Tommy in a dress. Wouldn’t that be a beautiful sight. He should get him one. In fact, he thinks he might buy Tommy some clothing of his own in general. While he loves seeing him engulfed by his own shirts, it might be nice for him. Something blue or purple, he’d probably like that.

“So, things are good, huh?” Annie pulls him from his thoughts, “you’re okay being here?”

“Yeah, actually. Surprisingly so. Had a bit of an issue at first and I get… nightmares, but I’m alright. It’s good. And you? How are things in the civilised world?”

“Could be better,” she sighs, “the kids were distraught after you left and I try to keep them away from the rumours… but people talk and they keep asking whether the mermaids ate you or saved you,” she huffs out a laugh, “there’s already protests with your name on banners. Saying mermaids _do_ care or something. Got your name attached to a cause now, brother,” another chuckle, “Darby isn’t happy about the whole ordeal. Doesn’t want me and the kids to leave the house half of the time.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, we’ll deal,” Annie sips her tea, now seemingly completely at ease. It’s been a while since he’s seen her like this, “helps that they caught that Hunter last night. Takes some of the heat off of us. Though I heard that was quite a battle.”

“Hunter? Really? What happened?”

“After that last attack they upped security on the bigger ships,” she begins, as if she were talking about the weather, “got some of those elite deaf sailors, the expensive ones. Apparently, they’ve got quite the kill count, but yesterday, on this big freight ship they disguised as a low security one, they managed to get one alive. A Hunter, not a Singer, but still. Put him in the tank in the town square. Personally, I think it’s a little barbaric.”

“Yeah,” Alfie nods. It’s a lot to take in. The upped security, the caught Hunter. Tensions are high and that bodes ill for Tommy, him and Annie, even if the attention is elsewhere at the moment.

“Have you thought about moving inland?” the question blurts out before he can stop himself. It earns him a stern look.

“Not leaving you behind, Alfie.”

“Might be safer. For the kids.”

“It’s not that bad,” Annie reaches out and puts a hand on his forearms, gingerly stroking with her thumb, “we live far out enough to be safe from any angry mobs.”

Alfie grunts in affirmation and takes a deep breath before looking back at her, “just promise you’ll leave if things get too scary. I’ll be alright here, okay? Got my merman to protect me and all.”

She smiles and nods. They shift their conversation to lighter topics, but the peace doesn’t last.

There’s a quiet sound of movement. The glass doors open. They turn towards them to spot Tommy dripping with cold water and… blood. Lots of it. Alfie is immediately up and on his way to him. The merman’s head is lolled to the side as he leans heavily on the doorframe.

Tommy can hear his name being called but his eyes are closed. He didn’t know. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. He tries to speak, but fails and feels the ground beneath him rock. His knees buckle. Before he can collapse onto the hard wooden floor, he is caught by strong arms. They gently lead him to the ground and he feels the press of warm palms on the sides of his face.

Blue eyes open just a sliver to see Alfie’s concerned face hovering above him. He’s saying something, but Tommy can’t quite make it out, noise getting more and more muffled as time goes on. It’s hard to stay awake, now that all the adrenaline has worn off. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not that much. Tommy wishes he could say that. Wishes he could say anything. He closes his eyes just to rest them. Just for a moment. Then, everything goes dark.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The path back to consciousness is difficult and dizzying, his senses slowly coming back to him one by one. The first thing Tommy feels is the warmth. So much of it, all around him. Through it, he can feel a sharp sting.

What follows is pain. Ripped flesh is screaming at him from all the bites, blunt and dull aches pulsing behind from where he’d been hit by tails. He can’t help but squirm. Movement, however, only makes it all worse.

A hand is placed on his forehead, warm and gentle, carding through his hair.

“Shh, it’s alright love.”

The voice is muffled and far away, but it’s unmistakable. Alfie.

As Tommy’s slowly coming to, he opens his eyes to see the fisherman hovering above. The merman is on the couch by the fire, covered lightly with a sheet. Fabric strains his movements as does the pain and he notices bandages on his skin. Alfie shushes him again.

“I’ve got something for the pain if it’s bad. Is it bad?”

He really wants to say no, but all Tommy manages to do is wince when he attempts to speak. Alfie turns to his left, taking his soothing warm touch with him as he gets the medicine.

Tommy’s eyes follow the needle closely, from when Alfie fills it with a clear liquid from a strange bottle to the moment he feels its sting on his neck. The man’s movements are deliberately slow so as to not frighten the merman. But Tommy has seen needles before. He knows their sting too well.

The pain dulls, as do his senses.

“Better?”

Tommy nods slowly, carefully.

There’s a sigh of relief. Then another voice says, “told you it would work.”

The cousin. She’s still here it seems. Tommy doesn’t like that and it seems to show on his face, because the hand is back in its place, combing through his hair and the warm low voice soothes, “don’t worry, pearl, she won’t hurt you, yeah? She’s with us.”

The cousin’s figure appears from the side of the couch and she smiles at him, sharing the same expression of worry as Alfie on her face. They’re very alike it seems. He’d like to protest, put up some kind of fight, but he’s tired and now that the pain is dulled, it’s hard to concentrate on anything.

His hand clutches at Alfie’s which is resting on the couch and the other man squeezes back carefully, “yeah, sweetheart, know you’re tired. Go on, have a rest. I’ll be right here, yeah? You’re safe.”

Tommy feels a bearded kiss to his hand and relaxes, letting himself slip back behind the mist into darkness.

Alfie sighs deeply next to the now sleeping merman. If the cabin wasn’t a pigsty before, it sure fucking is now. There’s blood pretty much everywhere, scattered on scarlet towels and deep brown wood panelling. He tries not to think about his mother. About how they had to nurse her injuries. About her deep hollow eyes.

“Hey,” he feels an arm on his shoulder, “he’ll be out for a while. Think you should take a break. Clean yourself up. I’ll make us something to eat.”

They’d been nursing Tommy for hours. Stopping one bleeding after another, stitching him up, checking his pulse and hoping for no internal haemorrhaging. He’s not completely out of the woods yet, but his odds are good if there’s no hidden bleed. He’s lucky both Alfie and Annie have experience in medical training due to their family history. Alfie doubts they could have taken him to a doctor. He nods reluctantly and places another kiss on Tommy’s hand before tucking it gently at his side.

Standing up hurts. His back, his arms, his scars, everything is a painful stretch and he grunts as he hobbles into the bathroom, picking up some spare clothing with his not so bloody hand on the way. There’s a tightness in his chest that seemingly no amount of coughing can clear.

He doesn’t feel like taking a bath, so he just scrubs off most of the massacre and puts on fresh clothing before returning to the kitchen. Annie is quietly working on a simple meal as he joins her. He throws a glance at Tommy. Still breathing.

His cousin gives him a soft smile. It wasn’t surprising when she helped take care of the merman. She’s always been very empathetic.

“He’ll be fine. He’s a tough one.”

Alfie nods. He feels his eyes water and tries to blame that on the chopped onions on the counter.

Tommy will be fine. He has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. We'll we're here, bad times. It might get a smidgen worse before it gets better.  
> I'll try to take some time during the holidays to write out the next chapter! Hope you're enjoying this so far :)


	14. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy wakes up in the cabin. Things get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!   
> Not the happiest chapter, but I hope you'll like it anyways! :D

Tommy’s darkness ends once again with the feeling of warmth on his forehead.

“You keep doing that,” Annie’s voice carries distantly.

“I know,” Alfie’s is much closer.

“You know they’re cold blooded, they don’t get fevers.”

“I know.”

The hand still stays. Tommy keeps his eyes closed until it pulls away. He’s still in the cabin, still on the couch. His pain is dulled by the chemicals Alfie had used. Tommy knows this because there’s a distinct slowness that comes with them, he remembers seeing it in the humans he’d seen drugged. Pain would be preferable, it would help him stay alert. Sluggishness is something he can’t really afford.

“Awake already, eh?” Alfie’s hand is back on him, stroking through his hair, “thought you might want to rest a bit more.”

Tommy shakes his head. He’s already been out too much. Sitting up is a strain, but he manages. The white sheet covering him slides to his waist. He stares at the bandages. No one’s ever bandaged him up. it’s useless in the water. But he supposes the bandages are more for Alfie anyways. That’s what humans do to help right? Bandage each other up when they’re hurt. It’s endearing, in a way.

Still, he needs to take them off. Along with his drug induced haze, they’re just too restricting to his movement. Alfie gently pulls his hands away when they start working the restraining fabric.

“No, sweetie, leave them on. You’ll start bleeding all over again. Just lay back down, I can get you anything you need.”

“I need to go back.”

“You certainly do fucking not.”

“Alfie-,” the cousin interrupts, but Alfie’s quick to retort: “Could you give us a moment, Annie? Thank you.”

She gives him a reproachful glare but complies nonetheless, stepping through the glass doors with her coat on. Alfie strokes gently across Tommy’s hands, still keeping them from tearing at the bandages.

Tommy knows he means well, but he can’t fucking stay. He doesn’t even really know why he came here in the first place. They… they blamed him. Fucking hell, how could they blame him? He would never. Fucking never… And John… Tommy needs to go back, show that he is _not_ a traitor that he did _not_ know what would happen. He just didn’t want to sing. If he’d known…

“Tommy you need to stay here for a bit, okay? It’s clearly not safe for you out there.”

He shakes his head, “they won’t hurt me again. I’ll make them understand.”

“It’s not just _your_ people, Tommy, it’s mine too. Killed a bunch of mermaids, didn’t they?”

Yeah, doesn’t Tommy fucking know-

“Caught one, too.”

Tommy’s head perks up at that. Caught?

Alive?

“Who?” his voice cracks as he speaks, “who did they catch?”

Alfie shrugs, “a male Hunter. I don’t know anything more. Do you understand now-,”

It’s John. It has to be. They were still looking for his body when Tommy fled. It fucking has to be him. He’s alive.

“Where is he?” he interrupts.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“What will they do to him?”

Alfie doesn’t answer.

“Alfie, what the _fuck_ are they going to do to him?”

“It’s… don’t you know? I thought you knew.”

When Tommy shakes his head, Alfie still seems reluctant to answer. Fucking hell, there’s no time for this. If they could hurt John… Tommy needs to get to him. By now the others will have figured out he’s been captured and… Esme is _not_ going to let that slide. Tommy needs to go and tell them. Tell them he’ll get him back and no one needs to get hurt.

“Alfie, fucking tell me.”

“There’s a tank… in the square. It’s filled with seawater, airtight and soundproof. No singing gets through. They capture a mermaid and put them in there. Leave ‘em as… “decoration”. Until they… well, starve, I suppose.”

Tommy looks back at him in disgust, “and we’re supposed to be the monsters?”

Alfie says nothing.

“They don’t starve, Alfie, they suffocate.”

Tommy huffs. As horrid as this is, it gives him time to save John. He tries to stand, but Alfie is determined not to let that happen.

“Tommy, you can’t fucking go, not like this.”

“I need to save him. He’s…” Tommy looks through the glass doors at the cousin standing outside, “he’s family.”

“I can’t let you do this, Tommy.”

“I don’t need your fucking permission,” Tommy moves to stand again and Alfie pushes him back down onto the couch. It’s gentle, but Tommy’s limbs are still burning when he lands. Fucking hell, his injuries take away his physical leverage. He doesn’t fucking want to sing… but… he can’t fucking stay here.

“Alfie…. don’t fucking make me-,”

“If you sing, Tommy, it’s fucking over, yeah? You sing right now and I never want to see you again.”

The words sting more than any of his wounds. He wants to… he needs to save John… but he can’t bring himself to sing. Fuck.

Tears escape him as he lays back down. The fisherman kneels next to him, the cold gone from his expression, trying to soothe Tommy with his caress, but there is nothing that could temper his turmoil now.

“It’s not just about John… when my people find out he’s still alive, _and they fucking will_ , they’ll go there. Into the town. The people close to him will want to save him. They’ll want blood. It’ll be a fucking massacre. Your people. Mine. Who knows how many dead?”

Alfie says nothing for a while, fingers still carding through Tommy’s hair. The cousin’s come back inside now, but Tommy doesn’t know how much she’s heard.

“I can… I can try to get him out of there,” Alfie offers silently.

“No fucking way,” Annie protests.

“What, so you want them all to die, eh?” he turns to her, but doesn’t stand, keeping a firm hand on Tommy, as if to make sure he stays there.

“She’s right,” the merman manages to add, “it’s too dangerous.”

“A lot less fucking dangerous than you going, treacle. Plus, it’s not like I’d be going there right fucking now. I’ll do it tonight, everyone’s asleep, I’ll be quiet. There and away in a fucking flash.”

“And how do you suppose you’ll get the tank open? It’s fucking locked,” the cousin huffs. She’s sat herself down next to Alfie, leaning on the chair behind her, arms crossed.

“I can break it open-,”

“And wake the whole fucking town. Not very fucking quiet, breaking a lock.”

“Well once it’s broken, we just have to book it. He can fucking sing if need be, right?” Alfie looks hopefully towards Tommy and Annie’s gaze follows. It’s very obvious she wants Tommy to discourage this, but… there is a chance this could work.

If it were any other man, Tommy wouldn’t hesitate to send him. Fucking hell. It’s either risking Alfie’s life or losing John and losing… probably many others too. Really shouldn’t fucking even have to think about it.

“John can sing… if need be,” he nods and hears the disgruntled huff from Annie.

Alfie takes a deep breath, “It’s settled then. I’m leaving at night.”

Tommy sits up away from Alfie, “then you need to let me leave. I have to tell them… so they won’t attack the town.”

“Tommy, look at what they fucking did to you.”

“I know. They won’t hurt me again.”

“How can you know?”

He can’t.

He doesn’t.

But he has no choice.

“Trust me, Alfie.”

Alfie nods with a heavy heart.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Polly stays silent when Tommy speaks, keeping her hard gaze away from his wounds. Ada’s poker face is way worse. Concerned glances flicker over his body. It stings alright, the salt in his wounds, but he’s been hurt before, he’ll live. Esme doesn’t even look at him, but he knows she’s listening through the incredulous huffs that escape her every now and then.

He’s barely finished when she says: “We’re going in. I’m not leaving his life in your plaything’s hands.”

Tommy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Esme, you won’t even get close to the tank.”

“’Course I will, I’ll sing the lot of them to hell before they’ll even see me.”

“And the deaf ones? The ones who took him? They won’t care about your singing.”

“I’ll just bite their heads off. They won’t even hear me coming.”

“But they’ll _see_ you. Tell me, how many times have you even used those legs to walk?”

She doesn’t answer, but they both know she’s never made a single step using the legs beneath her scales. Not many of them have.

“Is he to be trusted? This Alfie?” Polly’s voice is calm.

Tommy nods. She mirrors his movement and sighs, “I guess we wait then. If he doesn’t return with John, we retaliate.”

“We take down the tank,” Esme adds, a glint of madness in her eyes.

“That’s insane,” Ada chimes in, “and ridiculously dangerous.”

“There’s a better way,” Tatiana’s words are sing song as they carry through the cold current that precedes her arrival. The silver chains that form her mock bodice glint with a cold shine once they step into the light of the white fluorescent algae illuminating Tommy’s cave and the rings she carries on her hands clatter when she moves. All silver or white gold to match her pale white and pink scales.

Ada, Polly and Esme all bow as is custom. Tommy only dips his head. He’s a Singer too, even if he isn’t as respected as her. He’s also not currently as inclined to her as he was before, not that they were ever very amicable towards each other.

She’s the one who goaded the others into attacking him, accused him of treachery, of knowing the massacre that would ensue. Saying that’s why he refused to join them that day. But Tommy didn’t know… he just didn’t want to sing.

Tatiana continues as if she were a part of this conversation from the start: “The ship that we sought to take down is set to sail again very soon. This time, we won’t underestimate its crew.”

“And how do you know that?” Tommy asks.

“I have my sources. But we will need your help. Your voice carries strong.”

Tommy huffs. He’s playing with fire. Tatiana is unpredictable, and she’s already shown her propensity towards violence. There might be others outside the cave at her beck and call. One wrong word and this time, he might not get away. But he’s nothing if not reckless.

“If John doesn’t come back, he’ll sing,” Polly answers for him, challenging his glare once it settles on her.

Tatiana smiles sweetly, “ah, I heard that part, yes. It’s settled then. Good luck to that piece of meat of yours then, Thomas. Let us know if he comes back.”

And with that, she’s off again and Tommy exhales deeply. Minutes pass before his heartbeat stills a little, knowing the danger is far away now. He says his goodbyes and starts swimming towards the shore, hoping Alfie and Annie can keep their word.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silence is so very rarely silent, innit? The town square, abandoned in the dim moonlight, offers plenty of noise to oversensitive ears, right? The sound of waves crashing in the distance, wind chimes clinking here and there, the soft brush of foliage drifting. One or two creaks from straining windows.

Still it feels like Alfie and Annie’s careful steps crunch through the noise. It’s in his mind, surely, but the contrast still puts him on edge. They make their way through the alleys, checking several times that there’s no one around.

It’s like they’re walking around instead of towards the square, both dreading the leap that they will have to take, running out into the open. The moon shines too fucking bright, Alfie thinks, but there’s no postponing this. Finally, after minutes of stalling, he chances a glance towards the square. His eyes settle on the tank.

It’s… empty?

Why the fuck is it empty?

There’s something by the foot of it, Alfie can’t quite make it out. Annie takes his forearm.

“Alfie, no. Something’s wrong. Let’s leave.”

He shrugs her off, “stay here.”

His gaze flitters from one place to another as he goes out and leaves the safety and darkness from the alleys. His steps sound louder, his breathing heavier, his heart racing. All windows and doors around him are closed and locked, so why does it feel like there are a thousand eyes on him? Maybe it’s the stars.

There’s nothing but pale moonlight reflecting off of polished rocks in his periphery, but he still can’t quite keep his eyes still.

That is, until he gets close. Well, close enough.

There’s blood. Lots of it. It stains the tank a dark colour. By the foot of it, a lifeless body of a naked man.

Alfie approaches the glass slowly. Dread overcomes him when he spots the gills on the corpse.

John. He’s… he’s dead. Fuck, shit, fuck. Fuck.

There’s marks of struggle, cuts and bruises all over his body. Apparently, the townsmen weren’t content with waiting out his death. Maybe he wasn’t “as pretty as the girl ones”. Why the fuck didn’t he sing? Or maybe he did…

Alfie needs to steady himself on the tank, but the feeling of cold wetness as he touches the metal exterior makes him recoil in terror. The blood now on his hands. It almost looks black in the moonlight.* He swallows thickly. What the fuck are they going to do now? Is he really supposed to go back to Tommy and tell him John is dead?

Pale dead eyes stare on into the distance. The merman seems bigger than Tommy. He’s also more obviously muscular, as Hunters tend to be. Alfie wants to scream at the morons who did this. Now they’re all going to fucking die.

He jumps when he feels a hand touch him, but it’s only his cousin. He didn’t even hear her approach. She seems just as distraught as he is, but not as entirely useless, beckoning him to follow her off the streets. Fucking hell, Alfie wants so desperately not to leave the body behind.

Annie seems to sense what he’s thinking as his eyes settle on the corpse in the distance.

“There’s nothing we can do. You can’t haul a dead merman around. We need to leave before someone sees us.”

“What do I tell Tommy?” Alfie’s voice is broken.

Annie’s hug is comforting, but ultimately she has no answer. Only a steady hand that pulls him back through the alleys and onto the gravelly road. Alfie lets himself be pulled most of the way, mind somewhere distant, but when the cabin comes into view, he stops.

Tommy is still hopeful that they’ll succeed. That he’ll come home with John in tow. There’s no light in the cabin, but Tommy doesn’t need one anyways. Says he prefers the dark. He’ll be waiting and… and when they come in, he’ll… He’ll know.

Alfie’s hand is still stained with blood. He starts walking towards the water.

“Alfie what the fuck?”

Annie grabs him on his way. He just shrugs her off, “Need to clean this,” he shows her his hand, “Can’t… can’t well come home with his blood on my hands.”

“Don’t,” it’s a new voice that stops him.

Tommy.

Alfie turns to see him sitting on a nearby rock, barely visible in the dark, “they’ll smell the blood if you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is from Hannibal. I love Hannibal. Don't sue me pls
> 
> Phew that was quite a lot of plot.  
> Anyways, gotta work on the next two chapters, hope they'll turn out good. I have no idea if what I'm trying to convey is coming across well :P


	15. What the Tide takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy confronts Alfie about John's death. Things come to an end.

Alfie can’t see him well in the dark. Maybe it’s better that way. The moonlight illuminates his scales as they scatter into the sea and he retracts his tail.

Tommy moves among them with ease and grace, slowly approaching him. Annie takes a step back, the gravel beneath her feet crunching loudly. Makes it only more apparent how silent Tommy can be when he wants.

Alfie doesn’t move away when Tommy steps in front of him. Doesn’t bat away at the ice cold hands that grab his. Tommy stares at the blood, grip tightening, threatening to crumble Alfie’s bones.

“I’m sorry, Tom. We tried.”

As abruptly as it came, Tommy’s touch is gone.

“We have to clean up in the cabin,” the merman looks down on his hands, stained with the dried blood that had rubbed off of Alfie’s. His tone is detached and cold and Alfie wonders whether his eyes would betray any emotion were they visible right now. Probably not. He’s always been good at maintaining a façade.

Once in the cabin, Tommy washes his hands in the sink in the kitchen area while Annie lights up the room and Alfie cleans up in the bathroom. Once Alfie’s got all the blood off of himself, he changes his shirt as well and steps back out into the room.

The merman is still stood at the sink, rubbing his hands in the running water. With the lights on, Alfie gets a better look at the merman. Well, at least he gets a better look at his back.

Tommy’s littered with scratches and bite marks, but they seem to be healing quickly. Alfie wasn’t sure whether the fabled mermaid regeneration would apply to such severe injuries, but apparently there’s little limit to their powers. Still, there will be scars.

The icy silence is interrupted by Annie, stepping up next to Alfie, whispering: “He keeps cleaning his hands. It’s been minutes. Something’s wrong.”

She sighs, grabbing a towel, excusing herself to the bathroom, “I’ll give you two some space.”

Alfie nods and goes to stand at the merman’s side. Tommy is viciously rubbing the palm of his hand against his wrist, but there is no blood left to clean. Probably hasn’t been for a while. His face is obscured by the drying locks of hair falling over it, however that doesn’t hide his anguish.

Warm hands gently clasp over the merman’s own in the faucet’s stream. It’s enough to break the spell Tommy’d been under and he finally stops his movements.

“You… you were supposed to save him,” a cracked broken sound escapes Tommy.

Alfie’s heart aches. He wishes there were something he could have done. Apologising again won’t do anything, so he just pulls Tommy into a tight hug.

The merman seems to be battling with himself on whether to push into Alfie or away from him, but the fight soon leaves his body and he grips Alfie’s shirt tighter, closer until all that is left for him to do is to cry.

A mermaid’s wail is supposed to be a haunting sound to follow you into your nightmares. Tales of sailors throwing themselves off of cliffs after hearing mere seconds of such mournful cries resurface in Alfie’s mind. But Tommy cries silently, sniffing in between quiet sobs that wrack his frame and Alfie’s sorrow doesn’t come from some bewitching magic, but the pain of seeing a loved one hurt.

“I should have gone with,” Tommy’s voice is muffled by the fabric of Alfie’s shirt.

Alfie has to swallow thickly before he can speak: “He was… gone by the time we got there. Even if you went, there’s nothing you could have done.”

“No,” Tommy pushes away from him and Alfie lets him. The merman steps back, increasing the distance between them, “I should have gone with _him_. Like I was supposed to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was supposed to sing. To fucking… help bring down a big ship. I refused. Another Singer went with John, another Singer who… who fucking fled. Can’t fucking blame her. She’s young. Scared. It’s my fault. _I_ should have been there, but I fucking wasn’t-,”

His eyes bore into Alfie’s.

“-because of you.”

Silence lays itself between them like a blanket, taking away their voices. Tommy has said his piece and stands, waiting. Maybe he’s waiting for Alfie to fight back. To prove him wrong. But Alfie can’t find the words. What the fuck could he even say?

Whatever he meant to say dies with Tommy’s words: “Don’t come back to the sea.”

The merman leaves through the glass door and into the water. It’s getting a little brighter. Sunrise is coming soon.

Alfie doesn’t know how long he looks out towards the horizon, only that he is pulled back into the present by a warm touch to his forearm.

“Hey,” Annie smiles solemnly at his side, “let’s get some sleep.”

He nods and allows himself to be shepherd into the bed, Annie taking up residence on the couch by the fire.

As he lay there, Alfie stares at the trinkets on the shelves above him. He feels nothing. It’s as if all his emotions were drained with Tommy’s departure. It’s odd and he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself.

Sitting up on the bed, the cabin itself comes more and more into view as the sunrise approaches, illuminating more and more details before left shrouded by the night. Suddenly, it all seems too much. He can’t stay here. Not right now.

Silently, Alfie takes off on the gravelly road. Just a walk, he tells himself, just to clear his fucking head.

He wonders what the townsmen will do to the body. Will they discard it back into the sea for Tommy to find? Will they mount it to the helm of a ship as they used to do in the old days? Perhaps they’ll give him a grave.

Tommy would want his body back. Alfie’s sure of that. Maybe… maybe it’s still there. Alfie could… No, there’s no point in that. It’s almost daylight, there’s people milling about already, surely, and Tommy did fucking tell him to stay away.

Then why is he standing at the pier? He can see the tank from here. It’s far away, but he notices there’s people around. Someone steps closer, Alfie hadn’t noticed the fishermen already preparing to embark to the sea around him. But he doesn’t fucking care anymore, does he? He’s gone numb.

“Oi, if it isn’t the fish fucker!”

An arm shoves at his right, but he doesn’t even look. What does it matter who attacks him? What does it matter if they kill him?

He’s left without Tommy and he can’t go back to the sea. All that’s left for him is to be a burden to his dear cousin. If he disappears now, well, it’s just more fucking convenient for everyone, innit?

Another voice comes closer: “Maybe we should put him in the tank as well!”

“Would fucking suit him, eh?”

A crowd is forming around him, obscuring his view of the bloody tank. He turns his eyes towards the water.

“Nothin’ to say bubble boy?”

The men around him are angry, loud and so full of hate. He knows the violence that’s about to ensue and wonders how akin it will be to the mermaids biting at him in the water. How alike they are, mermaids and people, as much as they might not know it.

A shout interrupts the crowd.

“Enough!”

A woman’s voice. He doesn’t know her, but she seems to carry power, the men quieting into grumbling children at her command. They part enough to let her through, her dark eyes peering down onto Alfie as if he were dirt. Maybe he fucking is.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alfie shakes his head.

“May Carleton. Your _friends_ tend to attack my ships.”

He says nothing. Carleton. He knows that name. They have old money, lots of it, and the biggest ships at the pier. The woman certainly looks the part with her pristine and expensive looking clothing. She could kill him right now and there wouldn’t even be a trial.

She continues: “They’ve caused a lot of damage. A lot of loss. Many say you’re complicit.”

Alfie stays quiet.

“There’s a road to redemption for you yet. One of my larger ones, the Carleton Glider, is set to sail in a bit. Heading into dangerous territory, we intend for it not to fish, but to bring justice once again.”

The men around her cheer. It’s the same boat that captured John, of that much Alfie is sure. If not this one, then it was one of the other Carleton ships. The Carleton family is one of the rare few who can afford the security required to cause such massacre.

“What do you want from me?” Alfie finally speaks and she smiles.

“I just want you to watch. Maybe you’ll learn something valuable. We can talk more once you get back.”

She nods at a man beside her and leaves the crowd. The man grabs Alfie’s upper arm, “let’s go peaches.”

“I didn’t fucking say yes,” Alfie protests.

“Who says you ‘ave a choice?”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ship itself is large and opulent. Embellished with gold and blue paint with intricate carvings and the name _Carleton Glider_ in gold lining its side. Alfie may or may not have trouble appreciating its beauty due to the fact of being busy clutching his broken nose after having kicked the man dragging him on there into his unmentionables a couple of times. He might be down in the fucking gutter but there’s still some fight to him left.

Still, now that he is at the helm, the energy and adrenaline from a minute ago have gone and he is left so very fucking exhausted. Doesn’t even fucking know where they’re going. Doesn’t want to think about what they will do.

No one bothers him, the worst he gets is a couple of scathing looks. Obviously, more than one man present in his company would love to push him overboard, but it seems they’ve been instructed otherwise. Miss May Carleton apparently has plans for him.

The ship sails and he stays at the helm. He’s given earplugs. Someone offers to tie him to the mast. He won’t be needing either, he decides.

Can’t go back to Tommy and now he is set to be Carleton’s puppet. No doubt she believes he has leverage among the mermaids and seeks to make use of it. After a proper display of her power of course. Nah, Alfie’s not into any of that. Not going to let her pull his strings.

The earplugs are thrown into the water. Alfie knows what he chooses and he’s accepted his fate. As he watches the two foamy items float away from the ship, he notices the fog rolling in. They’re close to an island.

The dark rocks protruding from the ground are perfect for singers to perch upon. Such fucking obvious bait. Will the mermaids take it? Alfie’s eyes gloss over the vigilant sailors stood along the boat. The markings on their necks give away they’re deaf elites, but it’s the bites on their bodies that are most telling. Bites similar to his.

To have been pulled into the blue darkness and lived, these sailors must have murdered dozens of them. Alfie only got lucky. Fuck, he hopes the mermaids have learned not to fuck with Carleton’s ships.

Fog as thick as milk surrounds them now, making navigating this large vessel among the rocks a challenge in itself. Alfie’s eyes are straining to catch movement in the water, but eventually, he does. Quick, distant and obscured, but there’s no doubt.

The mermaids are here.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tommy lifts himself up behind a dark rock, peeking over its ledge to assess the large ship.

_Carleton Glider._

The ship that took John.

He yearns to tear its wood to shreds.

Five singers surround the vessel, though its crew is still seemingly unaware. Cumulatively one hundred mermaids beneath the surface. The ship _will_ sink.

Tatiana will give the signal. Sing and give them a target, while the others attack from behind. The other Singers will surround them with a melody, confusing the ones who can hear, making them stumble on board and disrupt the deaf soldiers while the Hunters climb the wood on the right, making the ship turn over with their weight. Once in the water, the sailors are as good as dead.

A few paces and the ship will be in position. Tommy scans the deck, deciding which one he’ll take his anger out on. It’s been so long since he’s killed… and he is filled with so much rage.

The snarl leaves his face when his eyes stumble upon a familiar figure.

Alfie.

What the fuck is he doing here?

His anger turns into panic. No. This fucker. He’s going to die. Why can’t they ever fucking listen? What the fuck is he going to do now?

The Singers all sit up on their rocks, but Tommy’s still paralysed in the water. Alfie notices them. Get the fuck away, Alfie, get to a boat or something. Put in some fucking earplugs, damnit!

But he doesn’t. Still is the water in his eyes. There is no inner turmoil. There is no doubt. His movements are deliberate. The earplugs obviously cast aside. He strides towards the water before anyone even begins to sing.

No! Tommy won’t let him fucking do this!

Eerie silence is interrupted by the splash of his body as it hits the waves. Tatiana begins to sing. Tommy moves away from the rock.

“Tommy, what the fuck!” Ada yells from behind.

He looks back, “I won’t let him die.”

And he’s off. Below the water and towards the ship. The muffled noises of chaos surround him as angry tails clamour the length of the Carleton Glider.

He doesn’t see Alfie through the throng of scales that surround him. There’s so many more this time, his hissing doesn’t do much to dissipate the crowd when he gets there. Words won’t mean anything to them, but he’s still too weak from his injuries to assert his dominance physically. Fuck, he tastes Alfie’s blood in the water, just like the first time, but there is nothing he can do.

He tries anyways, clawing at the crowd to try and put himself between them and Alfie when they’re all interrupted by wooden beams cutting through the water. The ship has been sunk. The chaos no longer above the surface of the sea.

The crowd around Alfie has dissipated, if only to sink others deeper into the sea. Debris, blood and rope float through the water and make it difficult to spot the fisherman among the wood of the sinking boat. There’s singing, screaming and wailing all around.

Fuck, where is he? There’s no time, if he isn’t already dead, he’ll drown. Tommy turns in the water, trying to orient himself.

“Tommy! Here!” Ada’s voice cuts through the noise. He swims through dark blood to find her, following her tail as she pulls a lifeless body along her to the surface. Alfie.

She pulls him onto a rock. The one behind Tatiana’s. Though above the surface, the man still lay unmoving, bleeding profusely from bites on his body. They’d been clawing at him too. His face red from the blood of scratches. He’s… he’s not breathing.

Ada looks at Tommy with sympathy in her eyes, but Tommy doesn’t fucking believe it. He won’t let him fucking die.

He Pulls him up higher onto the rock and starts pushing down on his chest rhythmically. He’d seen this before. It worked before. Push down enough and they start breathing again. He knows this will work. He knows.

“Tommy-,” Ada calls from behind, but is interrupted.

“Let him be.”

Polly. She thinks this is futile. But it isn’t. It can’t be.

Seconds pass and nothing happens. Tommy doesn’t give up. Doesn’t listen to the noise of death behind him. It won’t fucking reach him here. It…

“For fuck’s sake, Tom,” Ada bursts out, but Tommy doesn’t get time to shout back, interrupted by the weak sputters of a man newly brought back to the living. He grins as he watches the moving figure below him.

Alfie coughs and retches, falling back into unconsciousness as soon as he’s done, but he keeps breathing and he’s fucking _alive_. Injured, possibly bleeding out and far too cold, but alive.

Tommy falls back into the water and Polly glances towards the floating residue of a ship that once stood there, aware of the eyes already getting closer, “Alright then, Tom. What now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very bad at prolonging angst :P  
> I hope you still enjoyed :)
> 
> Spoilers: Next one is going to be a time skip. I know what happens directly after this, but have no motiavtion to write it ^^' maybe some other time I might add it in :P idk
> 
> Hopefully I'll be done by next week, there's only one chapter left :D  
> Thank you for all the support <3


	16. Calm Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months later.

The water is lapping quietly at the rocky beach, shallow waves pushing and prodding at the immovable land, brushing small rocks against each other in stubborn attempts to erode and swallow. Greedy little thing, the sea is, and patient too. It will take decades, but the land _will_ erode and the water _will_ take what it so relentlessly craves. In the end, it will swallow us all.

Alfie often ponders when the sea will take him. Should have already fucking done it, many fucking times. But still he stands here, well, _sits_ , as it were at the moment, scarred and mangled, with one good eye and one good lung, but alive nevertheless. Some could say he’s immortal. Maybe he’s favoured by the goddess of the sea. Perhaps he’s just lucky.

The rocking chair squeaks as he goes to stand with a grunt, grabbing his cane. Should go for a walk. His joints will be mad, but his mind will be grateful. The island he’s on is small, but he likes it that way. Makes him feel safer. He knows every nook and cranny of it.

Alfie moves along the shore, looking out into the distance. He can see the seagulls returning, those fucking bastards. Been pecking at his lovely little crops haven’t they? He’ll be sure to practice his aim with the crossbow he’s found on shore once they get close enough. Fuckers.

As he returns, he takes his seat on the wooden pier, feet dangling just above the water. Would be nice to have a boat again. He sort of misses the work, as tedious as it sometimes seemed. Feels like he has too much time on his hands now, even with the renovations he’s been doing. Maybe he should learn a new skill.

Knitting? Hmm… Perhaps he could write a novel. He scratches beneath his one good eye, pondering the possible new things he could teach himself. Lost in thought, Alfie doesn’t notice the movement in the water, only flinches when a cold hand grabs his bare ankle.

Tommy smiles beneath him as he pulls himself onto the pier.

“Oi, that’s not polite!” Alfie chides at the merman sitting next to him, wet tail glittering in the sunlight.

“You should be more vigilant, old man,” Tommy answers, placing a cold wet kiss on Alfie’s cheek.

“I’m not old, mate, I’m mature,” he grumbles back, pinching Tommy’s sides, “not like you’re the picture of youth yourself, right? Well that’s not true, you _are_. Mermaid youth and all, but my point is you’re just as old as me… almost.”

Tommy still smiles and kisses him, probably to shut him up, shedding his scales and then stepping up along the pier towards the small wooden cabin that sits at its edge.

Alfie dutifully follows with a hearty grunt and quite some effort.

It’s not much, their little cabin, smaller than his mother’s that’s for sure. But it’s home now, innit? A small bathroom and another room with a stove and a couch, some odd furniture here and there and the bed in the corner.

Well, the bed’s just more of a mattress on the floor at the moment, but Alfie’s working on making a bed frame for it. It’s taking quite a while, with his state the way it is, but it’ll probably be done within the week.

The mattress, stove and couch were the only things in here when he woke up in the cabin. He barely remembers what happened after the Carleton Glider sank and Tommy doesn’t like to talk about it, so he’s left piecing together what he can himself.

He was definitely back at his mother’s cabin, unless that was a hallucination. But no, he remembers his cousin. Didn’t stay there for long though, can’t have been safe. His first real memories start here, in this little space.

Took him long enough to get better, but he’s as good as he’s going to get now. Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Tommy. He smiles to himself. Always there to pull him out of trouble, his little merman, no matter how mad he is, eh?

The merman wipes a soft towel over his body before entering their home. He’s learned how to start a fire and begins stacking the logs in the fireplace. Alfie takes the beaten-up kettle and pours water inside.

Most of the additions in the cabin are Tommy’s finds from shipwrecks. Some are just items that got stranded ashore. Either way, they blend in seamlessly with the new array of trinkets along the shelves, filling the cabin with kitschy and colourful junk.

It’s all Alfie could ever ask for.

“You alright? You seem off,” Tommy’s voice comes from behind him as the merman nestles up close, cold hands brushing his stomach as he’s hugged.

“I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“What a lovely place we have here,” he says sincerely.

Tommy smiles into his neck as he places a peck there, “we did our best.”

“Well our best is pretty fucking good if you ask me.”

Tommy hums in agreement. It feels so normal, so right. He bets his mother would be fucking proud. Her little Alfie, on his own island, with his own merman. No townsmen to bother him, no judgement.

“Saw your cousin today,” Tommy whispers into Alfie’s nape.

“What’s she doin’ at the shore?”

“Just went to grab some stuff from the cabin. Says she wants to keep some trinkets.”

Alfie nods, “so they’re moving inland, eh?”

“She says there was little choice.”

It stings a little, knowing he’ll never see her again. He wishes they could have had a proper goodbye. But this is for the best. She’ll be safe further away from the shore.

“She said to give you this,” Tommy places a small bottle onto the counter. Alfie hadn’t even noticed him holding it. Inside, a rolled-up piece of paper. Another message in a bottle. It had been the way they’d communicated over the past few months, though it was a while before Alfie procured the means to write her back, with intact writing instruments and paper not being that common in the sea.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Alfie turns around to kiss Tommy properly, electing to leave the bottle untouched for now. A kiss turns into touching and touching turns into Alfie being not so subtly pulled towards their bed.

He has to lay down now, with Tommy on top. Can’t exert himself too much or he’ll be useless for days to come. But Tommy doesn’t seem to mind, eager little thing that he is. Alfie often wonders how the beautiful merman never tires of him, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

After a thorough fuck and a nice warming bath, Tommy brings Alfie the little bottle and their now cold tea where the man lounges on the couch. The merman lays across the padded surface, head resting on Alfie’s lap. The warm glow of the fire is all that illuminates their cabin now, the sun having gone down a little while ago.

They drink in silence, Alfie carding his hand through Tommy’s hair until the merman closes his eyes, falling asleep.

Alfie sets his cup aside.

The bottle is a dark green colour, almost emerald, and looks old and chipped. Its cork is light brown, pressed in tightly to prevent any water from destroying the precious message inside. He’s careful when he opens it, the bottle will no doubt hold an important place among the trinkets in their house.

Unrolling the piece of paper, Alfie reads quietly.

_Dearest cousin,_

_I remember that day at the pier as clearly as if it were yesterday. I was reading to my girls (who miss you terribly!) when I was told you had jumped into the water and almost died saving a mermaid. I thought you had caught your mother’s madness, then._

_Now I see it was her love that you caught. Love I never thought to be real._

_When you were dying in my arms and the merman wept at your side, I saw it to be true. Let him make you as happy as you make him. Love him as much as he loves you. Do not worry about me, I have my daughters. They grant me happiness beyond what I could wish for. We will be alright._

_Stay safe and I love you,_

_Annie_

Tommy stirs in Alfie’s lap, but he doesn’t wake. The note is rolled up again and placed back into the bottle. A sad smile passes Alfie’s face as he thumbs across its glassy surface. He composes himself before nudging Tommy awake.

“Time for bed, sweetheart,” he gently lifts Tommy up into a sitting position and goes to stand while the other yawns and stretches.

The bottle ends up atop the fireplace, among the few prized trinkets that lay there. A hand presses on the small of Alfie’s back.

“Did you read it?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Alfie turns around, pulling the sleepy merman close, kissing him gently. They’re alone, just the two of them, warm and happy and safe. Alfie noses at Tommy’s hair as he embraces him.

In the dim cabin on their own secluded little island, Alfie, for the first time on his fucking life, is completely honest when he says: “Yeah, I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it!  
> What a ride.  
> (So this is a short chapter, I hope you're not mad, and I've sort of skipped one, but it's hard to find the motivation to write this out more properly. Hopefully it's still enjoyable)
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the series!  
> Boy what I would do to be able to live on a tiny island with my own merman *cries*  
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos :D I'm glad I decided to finish this one :D

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Updates will (hopefully) be on Sundays, starting with 04.10.2020  
> Oh, just a side note (lore):  
> Singers are mermaids with shiny scales and fair features usually used to entice humans with their enchanting singing.  
> Hunters are mermaids whose scales are usually matte and dark blue so they are hidden in the water. They pull down and kill the humans enticed by the singing (though their singing can enchant people as well, it is usually not as powerful).  
> There’s usually 20 ish mermaids hunting at once, one being the Singer and the others Hunters, lurking underneath the surface.


End file.
